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VI 










THE MASTER -WORD 


3 o( t^e ^ont^ co>aa; 


BY 


L. H. HAMMOND 


Neto gotfe 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 

1905 

All rights reieroed 


the Llt^AftY OF 

OONoWESS. 

Two CoDies Received 

rEB 16 1905 

Oopyn^rht Entry 

fS. 

01A»8 ^ Mm 
/ C9 
OOf Y A. 



COPTBIGHT, 1905 , ' 

By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 


Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1905. 


Norfajoob i^ressJ 

J. S. Cushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 




MY BEST OF ALL THE SOUTH 

Mu Jatfjer 

AND 


Mu ?^w0^)anti 






NOTE 


To place a story in the phosphate region of 
Tennessee locates it so definitely, and within 
such narrow limits, that a word of explanation 
seems called for. 

Many of the incidents of this story, especially 
those more or less sensational in their nature, 
actually occurred within the writer’s experience 
or knowledge ; but while some of them are real 
happenings of the phosphate country, others took 
place elsewhere, and beyond the borders of 
Tennessee. They are here brought together in one 
place for the purpose of the story, — a purpose, 
it is hardly necessary to say, in full accord with 
Southern thoughts and hopes. 

Nashville, Tenn., 

1905. 


vii 



THE MASTER-WORD 


I 

In a quiet upper chamber of the spacious old 
house Philip Lawton lay between life and death, 
indifferent to both alike. The accident in which 
he had been injured had occurred near his home, 
and he had been brought there unconscious, though 
outwardly unhurt. For three days his body lay 
motionless, a mute, impassable barrier between 
the man himself and the woman who watched 
in tearless silence beside his bed. She had shut 
out of her mind all thought of what life bereft 
of her husband would mean to her : so long as 
the possibility of serving him remained she lived 
for that alone. To-morrow could meet to-mor- 
row’s grief : for the present her emotions were 
silenced by an unyielding will, and every faculty 
was strained to divine his needs, and to fight for 
him the battle he could not fight for himself. 

His eyelids fluttered at last ever so little. 
Presently they opened, setting free a glance of 
intelligence and love. Her soul leaped to her 
eyes to answer it, but she leaned forward quietly 
and pressed a few drops of liquid between his 
lips. She touched his forehead lightly, and with 
the flicker of a smile upon his face he passed 
I 


3 


2 


THE MASTER-WORD 


into a dreamless sleep — that safe upper cham- 
ber of unconsciousness too near and too familiar 
for any of us to fear. 

For the moment the fight seemed won ; but as 
the days passed and he still lay there, conscious, 
but with no other sign of rallying life, daily los- 
ing his scanty store of strength, the doctor grew 
anxious once more. The most distinguished 
physicians of the state were called in consulta- 
tion. From the sitting room across the hall Mar- 
garet watched them come and go. As the door 
closed on the last one she came swiftly forward 
to the old man who had known her all her life. 

“Will Philip live?” she asked. “Don’t try 
to spare me ; I want the truth.” 

“I cannot tell, my dear,” he answered sadly. 
“With his youth and his constitution he must 
have great rallying power ; but the shock has 
gone deeper than we can tell. He may react 
against it yet ; I think he would if only a stimu- 
lus sufficient to rouse him could be found.” 

“ What kind of stimulus ? ” 

“I do not know. It is as if he himself, the 
man, had dropped below the point where he 
could use his physical resources : another shock 
— if we only knew what kind of shock, and 
could supply it — might lift him to the neces- 
sary level. But it might quench his life alto- 
gether; and it is all speculation, Margaret: he 
may rally without it ; he has held his own 
to-day, I think. We can only wait and hope.” 


THE MASTER-WORD 


3 


She turned from him, hiding and choking back 
the sudden tears. Once more she put behind her 
the thought of the mutilated life which must 
remain to her if her husband were taken away. 
She went up the stairs steadily, but when she 
reached his half-opened door a trembling seized 
her and her eyes filled again with tears ; the strain 
had been too great. She passed on to her own 
room to regain her self-control before returning 
to Philip. 

She leaned against the window, looking out 
across the lawn and the wide fields to the 
broken sky-line of the hills, and then drew back 
as if stung. Just so she had leaned against that 
very window, looking out at those same hills, 
when she told her mother she had promised to 
be Philip’s wife. She had stood there in her 
wedding dress the night she married him, when 
the moonlight flooded all the fields. The eight 
years had flown by, swift as a weaver’s shuttle, 
and brought her to this last week where time 
had ceased, and in all the universe only love and 
pain remained. 

How long she stood there she never knew. 
The sharp opening of a door in the still house 
roused her. Who could have disturbed the 
silence with that sound ? She went swiftly and 
noiselessly out into the long hall, and at the far 
end of it, where a door led to the back stair- 
way, she saw a colored woman coming slowly 
toward her. It was no unusual thing for a 


4 


THE MASTER-WORD 


negro to come to her for help or advice, and her 
only feeling of surprise was that the woman 
should have chosen such a time, or been allowed 
by the servants to come upstairs. She went 
quickly to meet her. 

“ Do you wish to see me ? ” she asked softly. 

The woman looked at her with cool defiance. 

“ I don’t keer whether I sees you or not,” she 
answered ; “ I come to see Philip Lawton. Where 
is he ? ” 

Margaret’s eyes widened. 

‘‘ Mr. Lawton is seriously ill. You must go 
downstairs at once. Do not make any noise.” 

“ I knowed he was sick,” said the woman, sul- 
lenly, half overawed in spite of herself. “ That’s 
why I come. He ain’t goin’ to die an’ git away 
’thout payin’ me money.” 

Margaret’s eyes blazed. 

“ How dare you ! ” she demanded. « As if Mr. 
Lawton’s debts were ever unpaid ! Who are 
you ?” 

If the woman had been a full negro she would 
scarcely have ventured to enter the house ; 
certainly she would have abandoned her purpose 
at sight of Margaret ; but this woman was three 
parts white. For generations the worst elements 
of white blood and black had mingled to accu- 
mulate her evil inheritance. Just now her black 
nature was in abeyance, and her white nature, 
selfish, reckless, lawless, defied the woman who 
faced her. 


THE MASTER-WORD 


5 


‘‘ Who are you ? ” repeated Margaret. 

“ I’m the same as you are,” said the woman, 
insolently ; “ I’m the mother o’ his child.” 

Margaret drew back unconsciously, white to the 
very lips. Then she sprang forward, touching 
the bell with one hand, and laying the other on 
the woman’s mouth. She was terrible to see. 
The butler came hurriedly up the steps. 

“ Put this woman off the place,” said Margaret, 
in a low, tense voice. « If she makes the slight- 
est resistance, use force. Do not allow her to 
speak. Go.” 

Eli seized her arm in a compelling grip. The 
woman, all negro again, turned obediently and 
went down the steps in terror of the silent figure 
above her. 

Margaret stood where she had left her, her 
thoughts shrivelling in the fire of her wrath. 
Her one conscious wish was a consuming desire 
to wash the hand which had touched the woman’s 
lips. She held it up and looked at it as if it 
were an alien thing. She turned back to her 
room : she could not go to Philip with that 
pollution upon her. But as she passed his door 
she saw with horror that it was still ajar, and 
from within he called her, in strong, excited 
tones. 

“ Margaret ! Margaret ! ” 

She was in no condition to face him. Even 
her love could not calm at once a nature so 
outraged, so furiously angry. She passed the 


6 


THE MASTER-WORD 


door without hesitation. For his own sake she 
must have a little time ; he had never seen her 
like this ; she herself had never known that she 
could be like this, and the shock — she remem- 
bered suddenly what Dr. Ward had said, and 
paused in agitated confusion. 

“ Margaret !” called Philip, imperiously, “come 
here ! ” 

She obeyed mechanically, her face still white 
with the anger which was giving way in her 
own consciousness to the wild hope that after 
all the unspeakable lie might be the means of 
saving Philip’s life. But there had been no time 
for this feeling to overtake the other and supplant 
it in her outward expression ; and what Philip 
saw was a face of stone, and eyes before whose 
fury he shrank and paled. 

“ What did that she-devil tell you, Margaret ? ” 
he demanded, shaken by illness and agitation 
out of all his self-control and resourcefulness. 
“ Did she dare to bring that brat to this house ? ” 

Margaret came to a dead stop. 

“ What do you mean ? ” she asked in stupefac- 
tion. 

Fear, anger, and mental weakness blinded him 
to his opportunity. Or perhaps it was because 
his guilt stood suddenly apart from him, freed 
from the prison of his secret thoughts, and laid 
its withering touch on his perception as well as 
on his power of self-defence. 

“ I heard her say something about the child,” 


THE MASTER-WORD 


7 


he persisted. “ Why do you come in here in. a 
white fury and pretend not to understand ? You 
have a right to be angry, I know ; but you need 
not refuse me a chance to defend myself. Oh, 
curse her ! ” He ground his teeth with rage. 

Margaret stood staring. Presently she came 
close beside him. 

“ How old is the child ? ” she asked. She 
thought afterward with an aching pity of the 
depth to which she had fallen ; if the child were 
older than her marriage she would thank heaven 
upon her knees. 

A dull red crept under the pallor of his face. 

“ How old, Philip ? ” she implored. 

He made no answer. 

“ Was it since our marriage ? ’’ she demanded. 

His eyes fell. 

« Was it since Richard’s birth ? Answer me.” 

His face answered for him. 

“Philip,” she said gently, “if you ever loved 
me at all — or if you never loved me, yet out of 
sheer pity for me do not torture me any more. 
Tell me how old it is.” 

“I don’t know, Margaret. Three or four 
years.” 

“ Elizabeth was four in June,” she said absently. 
She was looking at the maple branches just out- 
side the window. One leaf, gray and stiff, hung 
at the end of a long shoot, its points curled up 
like the fingers of a dead hand clutching after 
vanished treasure. She turned toward the door. 


8 


THE MASTER-WORD 


“ Margaret ! ” cried her husband, brokenly, I 
am ashamed to speak of my love for you, but, 
by heaven, it’s the greatest thing in my life ! 
Give me a chance to prove it to you ! Don’t go, 
Margaret ! ” His voice broke to a shrill cry. He 
caught her hand. She snatched it from him — 
the hand which had lain on the woman’s lips ; it 
was doubly polluted now. 

She moved across the room without speaking, 
and rang the bell. The nurse answered it — a 
negro man, trained in the Nashville hospitals. 

“ It is time for Mr. Lawton to take his wine,” 
she said quietly. “ Ah, you have brought it with 
you. He seems so much stronger,” she went on, 
conscious of the man’s covert scrutiny, “ that I 
shall obey Dr. Ward and lie down. Call me at 
once, if I am needed, but not otherwise. Wait ; 
I will give him the wine myself.” 

She took it in a steady hand, and carried it to 
the bed. 

« Drink this, Philip,” she said, bending over 
him ; then, in a low tone, “ The man is watch- 
ing ; do not let the servants know.” 

He drank the wine with some difficulty, and 
fell back, half fainting. 

“ Telephone for the doctor, Jackson,” said 
Margaret. “ Hurry.” 

Until he came, she and the nurse applied such 
remedies as they could ; and Dr. Ward found 
him resting quietly, and decidedly better. 

« The crisis is past, Margaret,” he said. « This 


THE MASTER-WORD 


9 


reaction is only temporary, and the congestion is 
wonderfully relieved. There must have been a 
shock, after all.” 

“ There was a shock,” she answered, “ but I — 
I am too tired to talk.” Her eyes filled with 
tears. 

“ Poor child, you are worn out with the strain. 
Go to bed, and stay there ; he won’t need you.” 

She went to her own room, and threw herself 
upon the bed. Now that she was free to shed 
tears, they would not come. Feeling and thought 
alike forsook her. Her only consciousness was 
of utter isolation in some vast waste, cold, dead, 
illimitable. Gradually, as she lay there, detached 
memories of her life fioated past her, picture after 
picture. 

There was the first day she had been driven in 
to school at Fulton, a little maid with yellow 
curls and starched white frock. One of the boys 
had tweaked her hair at recess, and Philip had 
driven him away. Philip was a big boy with a 
red necktie. 

Once he had given her a humming bird that he 
caught in a butterfiy net. He would not speak 
to her afterward, because she set the bird free. 

She went to a party at his mother’s once ; she 
wore her first silk stockings. She had tried so 
hard not to look at her feet. Her curls were tied 
back with a blue ribbon ; she was quite a big 
girl now. 

He had gone away to college. After that he 


10 


THE MASTER-WORD 


had studied law. Then he had gone to Europe. 
She was away at school herself then, and dread- 
fully homesick. He had come to see her on his 
way home. It was raining that day, and she 
had been crying. She would have known the 
wave in his hair at the temples anywhere. He 
had a daisy in his button-hole — a marguerite, he 
said. He had brought her some beautiful roses. 

She and her mother were in New England that 
summer, and he came there for his vacation. He 
had tried to say something that last night, and 
she had laughed and made him angry. She did 
not intend to fall in love. 

They had been to a dance when she went home 
at Christmas. He had sent her pink carnations, 
but he wore a daisy again. 

It was the Christmas after she left school that 
it had happened. They were putting up Christ- 
mas greens in the church. There was a crowd 
of young people there, but they were quite pri- 
vate behind their big column, bristling wide with 
pine and cedar. She had not told her mother 
until the next morning. There was the chair 
her mother sat in. She saw again the tears in 
her mother’s eyes. Were they tears of thank- 
fulness or of dread ? She could not remember 
her father. 

Suddenly a wall seemed to fall from about 
her, and she saw herself surrounded by women 
— Hagar, Leah, (Enone, Octavia, Pompilia, and 
millions more, of every race and age, and type 


THE MASTER-WORD 


11 


of wrong, their separate individualities melting 
into an awful unity of pain. What, in this sea 
of misery, was the wreck of one woman’s life ? 
What right had one to happiness more than an- 
other ? What hope of happiness could there be 
when men and women must live in the same 
world ? She buried her face deeper in the pil- 
low. The women faded away and left her alone 
in her wilderness. 

Meanwhile the October day had faded, and old 
Aunt Dilsey, worn out with long watching in the 
room next to that in which her beloved mistress 
lay, and having finally arranged her own plan of 
action, descended upon the gossiping servants in 
the kitchen like a besom of destruction. It was 
her own great-niece, living in Nashville and a 
stranger to the Fulton negroes, who had tried to 
force her way to Mr. Lawton ; and Aunt Dilsey 
had long known, to her anger and shame, what 
Margaret had learned only that morning. Now, 
as always, her one idea was to serve the interests 
of her ‘‘ chile.” 

“ W’ich I got de bes’ mine in de worl’ ter 
make Miss Marg’ret tu’n de las’ one er you nig- 
gers offen dis place,” she declared wrathfully, 
breaking without warning into the kitchen coun- 
cil. Dey ain’t been a lick er wuk done in dis 
house ter-day, en yer hit’s mos’ night ! Ef I 
tu’ns my back, you-all quits wuk en goes ter doin’ 
sumpin’ you ain’t got no biznez doin’. I yeared 
you-all w’ile I wuz cornin’ down de back stairs, 


12 


THE MASTER-WORD 


settin’ yer swappin’ lies ’bout yo’ marster. I 
gwine tell Miss Marg’ret. Don’ none er you 
know nothin’, en I ain’t gwine tell you nothin’, 
’cep dis : Me en Miss Marg’ret goes ter see dat 
nigger ’ooman eve’y time we-all goes ter Nash- 
ville. Her gran’mammy wuz one er Marse Phil’s 
pa’s niggers, en Miss Marg’ret en Marse Phil done 
hope bring up de whole fambly er dem chillun 
sence dey pa got kilt wukin’ on de railroad. Dis 
un’s name Sally — Sally Means. She married a 
black man name Pete ; en Pete’s a plum’ bad 
nigger. Marse Phil done paid ’im outer jail forty- 
leben times, en ’e done sont word las’ week he 
warn’t gwine ter pay ’im out no mo’ ; en dat yaller 
huzzy come down yere kyarryin’ on ’bout money 
fer ter git Pete out, en sayin’ she en de baby 
starvin’. I wish ter de Lawd dey would ! She 
done mos’ kill Marse Phil ; en Miss Marg’ret faint 
w’en she git back ter ’er room, she been so scairt 
up erbout ’im. En yere you triflin’ niggers set, 
lettin’ strange folks go up ter de w’ite folks’ bed- 
chamber, en Marse Phil erbout ter die ! You cook 
yo’ dinner, Par’lee Potter. Go rub dem steps 
down, Eli, seein’ ez you fergot hit dis mawnin’. 
Malviny, quit fingerin’ dem pigtails er yourn en 
go ter wuk ; ef I fine de same spots dis night on 
Miss Marg’ret’s silver coffee-pot w’at I seed dar 
dis mawnin’ you kin go back ter yo’ mammy en 
let ’er put you in de co’n-fiel’ whar you b’longs. 
Don’ talk ter me ’bout free niggers ! I wisht I 
had er rope fer eve’y one er you ! ” 


THE MASTER-WORD 


13 


This gallant sally of Aunt Dilsey’s, with its 
really brilliant improvisation of lies, had the de- 
sired effect. No one but Eli had heard anything 
of the conversation in the hall, and Dilsey’s tale 
explained his confused impressions sufficiently 
well. It was certainly true that Aunt Dilsey, 
meeting Eli and his prisoner at the foot of the 
back stairs that morning, had called her Sally, 
and had taken her in charge as an old, though 
scarcely a valued, acquaintance. She had her- 
self taken her to town and put her on the train, 
and returning had gone at once upstairs where 
Miss Margaret was, remaining there all the after- 
noon. Moreover, Aunt Dilsey’s word was law, 
and she had never been known to lie. Her story 
is current in colored circles about Fulton to this 
day. 

<< Ain’t dem chillun come home yit?” the old 
woman demanded indignantly of Parralee, the 
only remaining occupant of the kitchen. Dat 
Lola ain’t fitten ter be trusted wid um outen my 
sight. I dunno huccome I put up wid ’er like I 
does. She know Dick’s alius gittin’ sick, en der’s 
gwine ter be a fros’ ter-night, en I lay she done tuk 
’im out widout er coat on. Dat chile ’ll have de 
croup ter-night, en me en Miss Marg’ret settin’ up 
wid ’im twell daylight, en dat triflin’ gal snorin’ 
in her bed ! Oh, you’s come, is you ? ” she went 
on in a high voice as she heard the side door open 
and the sound of childish voices. She opened 
the door into the back hall hurriedly. 


14 


THE MASTER-WORD 


“ Come yere ter y o’ mammy, you blessed lambs,” 
she called in honeyed tones to the children. « You 
Lola, is yo’ Marse Dick got his coat on ? ” 

“ Yes, Aunt Dilsey.” 

«En a mighty good thing fer you he have,” 
said Aunt Dilsey in a somewhat mollified voice. 
“ Come yere in de kitchen wid mammy, honey, 
en let her see ef her man’s good en wa’m.” 

She had Elizabeth already in her arms, and drew 
Dick after her gently. 

“ Dish yere’s de lady don’ have no croup, nor do 
nothin’ else w’at ’ll pester her pore ole mammy,” 
she said proudly, standing Bess on the table while 
she unfastened her wraps and passed them to Lola. 
“ Dat’s right. Dicky-man ; you des wa’m yo’ han’s 
at de fier en tell Par’lee ter git you er cole biscuit. 
I gwine take Bess up ter ’er ma. Miss Marg’ret 
done say she want ’er.” 

I hopes de Lawd ’ll fergive me fer de lies I 
done tole dis day,” she thought within herself as 
she mounted the stairs ; “ but Miss Marg’ret do 
need de chile, whe’er she done sensed hit er no.” 

She went softly down to her mistress’s door 
and slid Bess to the fioor. Her loving instinct 
told her plainly what the child must do. 

“ Yo’ ma’s on de bed, honey,” she whispered, 
“ er mebbe she’s on de sofy. She’s sick en wo’ 
out. Don’ you say a word w’en I opens de do’ ; 
you des tiptoe ’cross ter whar she at en clime up 
en cuddle up ter ’er whe’er she say ennything er 
no. Tell ’er you needs er pettin’.” 


THE MASTER-WORD 


15 


She opened the door noiselessly, and drawing it 
to after the child, turned away, resisting with a 
delicacy which would honor any lady her longing 
for one sound from that silent chamber. 

A moment later Bess crawled under her mother’s 
arm as it lay across the bed and laid her warm 
cheek against her mother’s cold one. Margaret 
caught her in a close embrace. She had for- 
gotten her children, ingrate that she was ! No 
life could be utterly desolate which held the 
compelling need for living that one might spend 
one’s self for one’s own body and soul. The 
children were hers forever, by a tie which crime 
itself could not weaken. She pressed her face 
against Bess’s curls and found the relief of 
tears. 


II 


Two weeks later Philip had recovered suffi- 
ciently to go about the house, and in a few days 
was to resume work in his office at Fulton. He 
was in the sitting room this morning, on one 
side of the bright wood fire, his face turned 
toward the cheery blaze, but looking covertly at 
his wife, who sat near a window whipping lace 
on one of Bess’s little garments. 

“ You have refused to discuss our affairs, 
Margaret, on the ground that I was not yet 
strong enough to bear it ; I hope my being down- 
stairs disposes of that objection. It is strange 
to me that you do not understand that the worst 
possible strain for me is the one you have forced 
upon me. Nothing that either of us could have 
said could have been as hard to bear as your 
continued silence and coldness. I can’t start life 
again without your forgiveness and love. I need 
you, dear ; these days have been intolerable.” 

There was genuine emotion in his voice, but 
unconsciously there was a sense of injury as 
well. His first feeling had been purely one of 
shame and self-reproach. It was true, as he had 
said, that his love for Margaret was the greatest 
16 


THE MASTER-WORD 


17 


thing in his life ; and with each day he realized 
more clearly how necessary a part of his daily 
existence was Margaret’s love for him. He felt 
his wife’s suffering most keenly — so keenly, 
indeed, that it became quite reasonable to pity 
himself as the unhappy cause of that which so 
sincerely afflicted him. He had tried several 
times to tell her of his misery, his need of her, 
his repentance — the three things took this order 
in his mind — but each time she had refused, 
gently, it is true, but decidedly, to open the 
subject until he should be stronger. Lying in 
his room, cut off from the ordinary interests of 
his busy life, his own personality was the nearest 
and most vital subject of thought; and the 
subtle alchemy of selfishness, by a world-old 
process, began to transform a wrong inflicted 
into a wrong endured. Margaret was unreason- 
ably severe ; plenty of men did worse things than 
he ever thought of — men who loved their wives, 
too. It was hard on her, of course ; he had 
done her an injury — and he had been deuced 
unlucky, too. The fact that it was hard on him 
bore in upon him with ever-increasing force. It 
was his intention, however, not to make too 
much of this fact in talking with Margaret unless 
it should become necessary ; he had hurt her, he 
was sorry, and he loved her ; it was an absolute 
necessity to any real comfort in life that her 
adoring, unquestioning love should be restored to 
him at once. After all, the thing which cut a 


18 


THE MASTER-WORD 


woman deepest in a case like this was her feeling 
that her husband’s love for her had failed : he 
must make her understand how mistaken such a 
feeling was. 

Watching her now, as she sat by the window, 
he noted the change in her face ; it was thin and 
pale, her eyes tired and old. It suddenly oc- 
curred to him that she must have been crying a 
great deal. The sweet curves of her lips had 
hardened, as if she held them by force of will in 
their accustomed lines. A sudden rush of pity 
for her blotted out for the moment his pity for 
himself. He crossed the room impulsively and 
seated himself close beside her. 

« Margaret, dearest,” he said tenderly, « even if 
you forgive me I can never forgive myself. I 
wish to God I had died before I hurt you so.” 

“ I wish you had, Philip,” she answered sadly ; 
“ I wish it for your sake even more than for my 
own.” 

Philip felt a distinct shock. It is one thing for 
a man to offer his life, even in words, as a sacrifice 
for a woman’s happiness ; it is quite another for 
the woman calmly to accept it. 

“ You are certainly frank,” he said bitterly. 

“We must be frank, Philip,” she answered, 
dropping her work in her lap and turning that 
she might face him fully. “ I want to tell you 
what I have decided. Of course the first step 
does not now rest with either of us : it is simply 
a fact to be acknowledged that the law of 


THE MASTER-WORD 


19 


marriage having been broken, our marriage is at 
an end.” 

“ Margaret,” he exclaimed excitedly, and then 
stopped, checked by the look in her gray eyes. 
He caught his breath with a sense of suffo- 
cation. 

“ That fact is the basis of all we have to say,” 
she went on steadily, holding his eyes with hers : 
“it is not a matter for discussion. We are done 
with the past : our only concern is with the 
future.” 

“ I will not submit to it,” he cried hotly ; 
“ my authority counts for something, I think.” 

“ It counted for a great deal, while you pos- 
sessed it ; but it no longer exists.” 

“ Indeed ? And where did you learn that ? ” 
he demanded. Pity for her had dropped out of 
his mind : he felt only the man’s primeval 
necessity to subjugate the woman he has chosen. 
In the first days of their estrangement he had 
thought with positive terror of the possibility of 
her resort to the courts ; but the more he thought 
of the possibility the less it terrified him. She 
was never a woman to go to extremes ; she had 
not the first element of vindictiveness in her ; and 
her love for her children, he was absolutely sure, 
would prevent her from entertaining even for a 
moment the thought of a divorce. He still felt 
easy on that score ; but evidently there was an 
unsuspected hardness in her, as well as an un- 
suspected guile, which enabled her to threaten 


20 


THE MASTER-WORD 


him with that possibility in order to gain her 
real end, whatever it might be. She must wish 
to force from him a pretty big concession when 
she resorted to such means. 

“You will find that my authority counts for 
something, I think,” he went on boldly, “ even if 
you propose to take your grievances to a divorce 
court, and run the risk of being separated from 
your children.” 

She neither paled nor winced. 

“ I shall never be separated from my children,” 
she said quietly. “ In regard to a divorce, I 
shall secure it only if you force me to do so. It 
is because I wish to avoid a divorce that I discuss 
the matter with you at all. But you must 
understand that a public divorce is the only 
alternative to what I have to propose.” 

“You are ready with your evidence, I sup- 
pose ? ” he inquired, with affected carelessness. 

“ I can put my hand on it if I need it, Philip,” 
she replied ; “ I beg you to believe that. • But 
believe at the same time that I have not said a 
word to any one which could suggest the smallest 
breach between us; I wish that kept entirely 
between ourselves.” 

“Then where is your proof? I heard you 
send the woman away ; you do not even know 
her address.” He was convinced that she was 
trying to frighten him, and he wished to show 
her how childish it was. 

“Philip Lawton would be a sufficient wit- 


THE MASTER-WORD 


21 


ness,” she answered calmly ; “ I scarcely think 
he would perjure himself — though after all, I 
do not know. But I am not dependent upon 
him ; I can put my hand on the other proof, 
and I will, if you force me to it.” 

She was sure, indeed, as women are without 
words, that Aunt Dilsey could tell her all she 
might need to know. A question to Eli had 
brought out the fact that Aunt Dilsey had taken 
charge of the woman at the foot of the stairs, 
and had gone with her to town ; and the sympa- 
thy in the old woman’s face, respectful, guarded, 
yet intensely felt, had told her the rest. Aunt 
Dilsey, if she ever wanted to know, could tell 
her everything ; if not, she would never speak : 
the shameful secret was as safe with her as it 
would have been with Margaret’s own mother, 
dead these seven years. 

They both sat silent for a space, seeing one 
another in new lights ; and to both the revela- 
tion was bewildering. In the past two weeks 
there had been times when Margaret’s agonized 
sense of Philip’s repentant suffering had almost 
turned her from her purpose ; and now every 
word he spoke contradicted all her conception of 
him. She knew that her idol had fallen ; she 
had never imagined the coarseness of its clay. 

To Philip, on the other hand, Margaret’s self- 
assertion was no less amazing. He had always 
known that she was a strong woman ; he had 
rested on her strength as on a rock : but he had 


22 


THE MASTER-WORD 


always thought of it as something under him, 
subject to him in all ways. It had never occurred 
to him that she had any strength with which to 
oppose his will. She had been the most gentle 
and submissive of wives : from the time that he 
had entered her home, on his marriage, he had 
ruled both it and her without effort or question. 
He was first angered, and then frightened, by the 
growing perception that he had ruled because it 
had been her will that he should rule, and that 
against her final decision he must dash himself 
in vain. She seemed already far beyond his 
reach ; and, after the manner of his kind, he 
found her more to be desired than when she lay 
passive under his hand. He leaned toward her, 
impassioned appeal in his dark eyes. 

“ Margaret,” he said eagerly, forget what I 
have said. I was only trying you, dear. And 
whatever you want I must accede to it ; I am 
utterly in your power. Remember that, and 
that I love you, and be merciful to me.” 

“ I would not be unmerciful,” she answered 
slowly ; ‘‘ but we must think of the children first 
— they have the right. Whatever is best for 
them must be borne without regard to our own 
suffering. It is the only tie between us — what 
we owe to them ; but it is strong enough to con- 
trol our lives.” 

“ That is what I knew you would feel ; the 
children — ” 

“Must never know. For that reason I am 


THE MASTER-WORD 


23 


willing to go on, outwardly quite as usual. To 
the children, the servants, and the world, there 
need be no change whatever. Only we ourselves 
will know that our marriage is dissolved and our 
love dead. I did not say that it would not be 
hard,” she went on hurriedly, as if in fear of in- 
terruption ; “ for me, at least, it would be infi- 
nitely easier never to see you again. But for 
their sakes I bear the burden myself, and I 
require the bearing of it from you.” 

Her head was held high on her slender throat ; 
her look' commanded obedience. 

“ Where is your doctrine of forgiveness ? ” he 
asked. “ Yesterday I heard you telling Bess 
and Richard something about ‘ seventy times 
seven ’ ; is that a commandment adapted only to 
children ? ” 

« I ought to forgive you, Philip ; I do try. 
But that does not alter the fact that the law is 
broken. We must bear the penalty ; there is no 
escape.” 

“ Why do you say that love is dead ? ” he 
demanded, driven to take his stand at last on 
the point from which he had hitherto shrunk, 
knowing it to be that on which all must be lost 
or won. “ I never loved you better in my life 
than I do now, I never reverenced you so. Mar- 
garet, you can do anything with me, make of me 
anything you will ; do not cast me off. It is 
not possible that you do not care for me any 
more — my God, it isn’t possible ! Think of 


24 


THE MASTER-WORD 


the long years, dearest, of all our happiness to- 
gether, of how we have grown into one another’s 
lives. Do you think all that is so easily thrown 
aside ? Dear, you are deceiving yourself ; it 
cannot be ; we are part of each other now, for 
better or for worse. Try me, Margaret; try 
me just once.” 

Two tears rolled down her cheeks. She parted 
her lips to speak, but closed them again to stop 
their pitiful quivering. He leaned toward her, 
not daring yet to touch her hand. 

“ Dear, I have sinned,” he said ; “ I have been 
hateful to you only this morning ; I was half 
mad at the thought of losing you. Margaret, 
you are my all, my pearl, the one woman in all 
the world.” 

“ The one woman ! ” she said scornfully through 
her quivering lips. 

“Yes, the one woman, by heaven!” he cried. 
“ You make me wish that for one moment you 
might be less perfect, that you might comprehend 
the truth I Do you suppose that for one second 
my love for you was weakened ? ” 

“ There spoke the beast ! ” she exclaimed, 
springing to her feet. “ And it is the truth, the 
truth 1 And I — I thought I married a man ! ” 

“ Men came from beasts 1 ” he answered passion- 
ately ; “ there is law for you, if you will have it I 
We struggle upward, all of us, lighting God 
knows what brute nature within ; and you — 
you good women that stand above it all will see 


THE MASTER-WORD 


25 


US perish in everlasting burnings before you will 
pity us or try to save ! The moment you realize 
our need of you, you turn your backs. It was 
the beast that spoke ! And because it was, the 
man demands your love and help ! ” 

“ And I have no love to give ! ” she flashed 
back, standing before him like a tall, white flame. 
“ The beast must rise to a certain point before 
one can call it a man I Oh, do not be deceived ! 
I did not cry because I love you — no, no, no, I 
am spared that degradation ! It was because of 
the man I did love, the beautiful dream man 
whom I clothed with your flesh and worshipped 
all these years. I have lost him, lost him for- 
ever, and the thing that is left turns me sick to 
see ! Oh, I must not talk, I must not ! ” she cried 
pitifully, pressing her hands to her throat, and 
looking wildly at him as he stood, white and 
stone-still, before her. Let me go now, Philip. 
We need never speak of it again. I will be 
quiet ; I will be considerate ; I will do every- 
thing for you that I can ; I will gratify every 
possible desire. I will try to help you, Philip; 
I will try to help you to be good. I will do all 
that for the children’s sakes ; I will try to do it 
for yours. I will be your servant, your slave, 
— anything but your wife. But never speak 
to me of my husband again — you have neither 
part nor lot in him. He is mine, mine — and 
I have lost him ! ” She burst into a passion of 
tears and ran swiftly from the room. 


Ill 


The days went on, as they have gone from the 
beginning. Outwardly life settled into its accus- 
tomed routine, and to no one but old Dilsey was 
there any change in the home. Her loving in- 
stinct could not be deceived ; but she would have 
felt herself a recreant had she ever hinted to 
her “ chile ” her knowledge of the truth. She 
watched the subtle changes in Margaret’s face 
with deepening bitterness, and found her only 
comfort in such an asperity of mien to the other 
servants as made their lives a bondage of fear. 
Through the long evenings she mused sadly in 
her comfortable cabin on the vanity of earthly 
things. She went back to the time, just after 
freedom, when Thomas Jefferson, for seventeen 
years her lawfully wedded husband, had left her 
and “taken up” with Maria Jervis, an eighteen- 
year-old yellow girl from a neighboring plan- 
tation. 

“De Lawd done cu’sed de wimmin long er Eve’s 
eatin’ dat apple,” she thought. “ Dey des borned 
ter trouble, black en w’ite erlike. Sally — she 
ain’t no better off dan my pore lamb dar in de 
house ; she wuss off, kase she de debbil’s own, 
en she don’ keer ef she is ; en dat baby’s de 
26 


THE MASTER-WORD 


27 


wuss off er de th’ee un um. I lay Eve’s a-settin’ , 
on de hottes’ coal in hell dis minnit fer w’at she 
done, en w’en I gets ter hev’m I gwine look over 
de jasper wall en see ’er doin’ hit. I mouter bin 
sorry fer ’er ef hit hadn’t er bin fer my mistis ; 
but de Lawd know bes’, en he done put ’er right 
whar she b’long.” 

Margaret, meanwhile, bent all her faculties to 
the task which she had set herself. But for the 
children she would have found it beyond her 
strength ; for their sake it was accomplished. 
In one way and another, the body of the dead 
home was galvanized into an appearance of life 
sufficiently natural to deceive all those who 
looked on ; but to her who knew the truth, this 
companionship of the unburied corpse was a 
fearful thing. It did not occur to her through 
the long winter months that Philip, sharing the 
ghastly secret, might share the horror too. Be- 
yond a grateful consciousness that he accepted 
the situation as she desired, and a careful routine 
attention to his outward comfort, she put Philip 
out of her thoughts. Her tears, her agonies, 
were not for Philip, but for the dream husband 
whom she had lost. Absorption in her own suf- 
fering she recognized as selfish, and strove to put 
far from her, making desperate efforts to retain 
her old interest in the persons and things about 
her: of any selfishness of her absorption in the 
struggle to fulfil her own hard task she was 
utterly unaware. 


28 


THE MASTER-WORD 


So, inch by inch, the winter days dragged on. 
Even when at last they looked for spring — the 
beautiful early spring of middle Tennessee — 
cold and darkness clogged the wheels of life. 
Late in March there came an unprecedented 
snow-storm, shrouding the stark earth as if for 
burial. Resurrection seemed but a dream of the 
heart. 

On the afternoon of the snow-storm, when 
Philip came back from town, a furious wind 
came in at the door after him as if it were driv- 
ing before it some wrecked waif of the storm. 
He came in coughing and shivering. In reply to 
Margaret’s question, he said that he had not 
taken cold, but that if he had known how 
severe the storm was, he would have telephoned 
her, and remained in town. He went to his 
room earlier than usual, and next morning was 
unable to leave his bed. Dr. Ward pronounced 
his malady pneumonia in a severe form. Con- 
sulting physicians were called in, everything pos- 
sible was done for him, but he grew steadily 
worse. 

“It is the shock last fall that is killing him, 
Margaret,” said the old doctor. “ I have watched 
him all winter, and he has never really rallied. 
He was even more ill than I understood; he 
must have been. I never saw a man age and 
break so in five months in my life. He not only 
doesn’t react ; he hasn’t vitality enough left to try.” 

Margaret faced him, very pale. 


THE MASTER-WORD 


29 


Do you mean - — ” 

“ I mean you must give him up, my dear,” said 
the old man gently ; “ you must face it very soon. 
But Margaret, my child, do not forget your mer- 
cies ; you have had eight happy years : if my 
wife — ” he choked and turned away. His wife 
had died within a year of their marriage, and he 
had carried her in his heart ever since. 

Margaret went back to Philip’s room, scarcely 
conscious of what she did. The confusion of her 
thoughts and emotions oppressed her physically. 
She sank into the chair by the bed, trying to breathe 
naturally. At a sign from Philip the nurse left 
the room. 

“ Margaret,” he said weakly, “ may I speak 
this once of the forbidden thing ? The dying have 
such privileges. It is for your sake, dear, not 
mine.” 

Unconsciously her hand sought his; his fingers, 
weak and eager, closed about it. His touch, so 
long unfelt, recalled her to herself, but for pity’s 
sake she could not withdraw her hand. 

“ I am glad I am to die,” he went on slowly, 
pausing now and then. “ It is the only thing 
that I can do for you. It seems almost too good 
to be true. My God, if I had lived to be old, and 
chained you to this life always ! ” 

« Don’t, Philip, don’t,” she implored. 

“ But this is what I must say. I have been 
afraid, dear — death changes so many things, and 
you are so pitiful by nature — I have been afraid 


30 


THE MASTER-WORD 


that sometime, perhaps when you are old, you 
might come to think of me as if — as if I had suf- 
fered too much. You might even blame yourself, 
dear heart. And so I want to tell you, before it 
is too late, that you have blessed me always, and 
never more than in these last five months. I 
loved you always, Margaret; even the brute would 
do that; but I was beast as well as man, even in 
my love. When the break came it was my own 
suffering that was the intolerable thing ; I could 
not live without you. I cursed your standard ; 
it seemed cruel, mad. But nothing — ” he paused, 
white and exhausted. 

“Oh, Philip, wait!” she cried. “You must 
save your strength. We can talk again to- 
morrow.” 

“ This is all I need strength for,” he answered 
presently ; “ all the rest is finished. And to- 
morrow — ” he smiled a little, and lay with 
closed eyes. 

“ Nothing moved you,” he went on, “ nothing. 
You were the incarnate law of God. You burned 
into me what law meant, and justice. I was 
a lawyer, but I had never thought what law like 
that meant to me — to every one. I saw it all — 
the rightness of law, and of penalty. Margaret, 
you lifted me up. Through you I vanquished the 
beast. I face death a man through you. Never 
regret that you did that for me ; never think you 
were hard.” 

Her tears choked and blinded her. Through 


THE MASTER-WORD 


31 


/ 


their mist the dream man seemed beside her, 
melting into Philip’s flesh. 

“But Dick, Margaret. I would like to stay 
with the boy, if it were not so horribly hard on 
you. Help him, dear. He must fight that fight 
some day — fight it and lose it, perhaps, before 
he is a man. So many boys do. Their own 
mothers do not lift a hand. They perish in their 
ignorance, like the poor blind brutes they are. 
Teach Dick ; if it works good for the boy it will 
be easier for you to bear. If he knows what 
justice — ” 

Margaret dropped her head on the pillow beside 
him. 

“ I have tried to be just, Philip,” she sobbed ; 
“ and I have ruined both our lives ! It was love 
we needed — more love.” 

He turned his face to hers. 

“We needed both. Law, justice, love. Love 
is t^ Law above the law, the master-word of all. 
But it never breaks the law, even when it super- 
cedes it. And first one must learn the law ; how 
could you forgive me else ? Dear, it is worth the 
cost.” 

There came a long silence. 

“ Philip,” she whispered, “ we will begin again. 
You will live for me, Philip ; I need you so.” 

“ Dear, it is too late ; I have used my life up 
learning. But the separation is ended. Death 
is a small thing — an incident ; we can afford to 
wait.” 


32 


THE MASTEKr-WORD 


He closed his eyes again and lay dozing, while 
she watched, his hand in hers. Presently he 
looked at her again. She bent her head. 

« The — the child, Margaret. I did what I 
could. Never let that trouble you — you are 
noble enough to think of it. It will be educated 
for its own place in life. But think of the her- 
itage. Can the master-word be spoken in a life 
like that?” 

He closed his eyes again with a groan. Mar- 
garet slipped down upon her knees, her head 
upon the pillow, her cheek to his. Silence fell 
between them, and again he seemed to sleep. 
Darkness gathered about them. One by one the 
stars stood without, watching, radiant, in the still 
evening air. At last she lifted her head and 
tenderly, solemnly, touched his lips with hers. 
But Philip, her dream man, had slipped away. 


IV 


Margaret sat on the lawn, under an old beech, 
her head leaning against its silvered trunk. The 
sunlight, falling through the young foliage, 
touched the waves of her hair to bronze. Her 
clear, gray eyes turned from following the chil- 
dren, to rest for a moment on the high-rolling 
hills and drink in the beauty and the promise of 
the spring. For the snow had been death’s own 
winding-sheet and life had seized the vacant 
throne. The dead earth had risen in a night. 
Flamelike mists of red and gold had gathered 
on the bare hillsides, and deepening into soft 
green clouds hung about the once barren trees. 
The breath of violets filled the air. Along the 
fence, at the farther side of the wide lawn, hun- 
dreds of daffodils blazoned abroad the glory of 
the spring. 

Bess, her lap heaped with blossoms, sat on the 
floor of Dick’s express wagon, her family of dolls 
about her, while Dick himself, high on the seat, 
drove Brown Joe to town. The wooden horse 
was a notable roadster, and they were going at 
a furious pace. Their laughter bubbled like a 
brook in spring. 

To Margaret, leaning against the beech; the life 

D 33 


THE MASTER-WORD 


(Jt 

of the children, like that of the young year, blent 
with the resurrection in her own heart. The 
sense of reunion with Philip was too strong for 
death to shake ; their separation was ended, as 
he had said. If he had been killed in the acci- 
dent the fall before she could scarcely have borne 
his loss ; but through the winter, in her abyss of 
desolation, she had sounded the depths of that 
separation which comes from the death of love, 
^ and against an arisen love she found the death of 
the body powerless. As she sat watching the 
children her thoughts were not with them, but 
with Philip, and that unknown waif who had 
received from him the evil heritage of life. She 
was thinking, as she had often done in these 
weeks since her husband had passed beyond her 
sight, of his last words and of the low moan 
which had followed them. The vague thing 
which had stirred within her when she slipped 
to her knees at his bedside had been taking defi- 
nite form to itself almost without her knowledge. 
She had been unjust to Philip, unmerciful, self- 
righteous, and he in his repentance had not only 
attained a clearer vision than herself, but had 
passed beyond her reach. There was nothing 
she could do for him — nothing to prove the 
truth or the humility of her love. Nothing. 
Unless — Why should she not? If she took 
up, as it fell from his dying hands, the task of 
righting the wrong for which she had forgiven 
him, would not the last point of separation be- 


THE MASTER-WORD 


35 


tween them vanish ? He would know then that 
in nothing had she held herself aloof from him ; 
they would be too close for even the memory of 
a sin to come between. If she could right the 
wrong of which he had despaired, would it not 
be an offering worth bringing to the altar of her 
love ? 

She did not deceive herself with the hope of 
an easy task. She recalled the woman’s hand- 
some face, insolent, hard, animal, moulded of all 
the evils two races could supply ; the child would 
be like that. Like its mother, it was by inheri- 
tance an outcast, forever an alien from the race 
which had fathered it, and yet in its own feeling 
hopelessly set apart from the race to which it 
must belong. Life was difficult enough for the 
most favored ; but for one like that — 

She started as Bess’s little hand fell on her 
own. The child’s rosy mouth, puckered to a 
knot and covered with dirt, was held up without 
a word. She brushed the dirt off, smiling, and 
the little lips, freed from their unpleasant encum- 
brance, opened for an explanation. 

“We been kissin’ our shadows good night,” she 
said. “ Aunt Dilsey says the sun pushes ’em up 
in the trees eve’y single night. See how long 
an’ fine they’s gettin’ ; they’s beginnin’ to climb 
now.” 

“ Is it cold in the trees when it’s dark?” asked 
Dick, looking doubtfully up into the branching 
heights of the old beech. 


36 


THE MASTER-WORD 


<< Not for outdoor shadows,” said Margaret, 
gravely. “ House shadows mightn’t like it. 
House shadows get lonesome, too, evenings like 
this, when the sun goes down and it begins to 
grow chilly. We’d better go in and keep them 
company.” 

“ Let’s send all three of our shadows up in the 
same tree,” said Dick ; ‘‘ then the Bess-shadow 
and the Dick-shadow can have the mother-shadow 
all night ; they can’t get lonesome that way.” 

He trotted about until his shadow fell on the 
tree trunk, but when he moved aside it fell back 
on the grass. He looked at his mother, puzzled, 
and she waited to see what he would do. 

“Aunt Dilsey says they won’t climb if you look, 
Dick,” interposed Bess. “ Le’s turn ’round.” 

They all turned their backs to the tree, one by 
one standing before it and throwing a stealthy 
glance behind them to make sure that the shadow 
had begun to climb ; then with eyes set steadily 
before them they went to the house, the children 
clinging to their mother’s hands. 

“ Good night, shadows ! ” they called from the 
porch, kissing their hands to the beech. 

That night, when the children were safely 
tucked in bed with their house shadows curled 
snugly under their respective beds, Margaret sent 
for Dilsey. She came in presently, the flicker 
of a little wood fire lighting up her spotless tur- 
ban, her apron, and the whites of her eyes. All 
else was but a blur upon the dark. 


THE MASTER-WORD 


37 


“ Huccome you settin’ yere in de dark, honey?” 
she inquired. “ You oughter be mo’ cheerfuller, 
chile. Lemme light de light.” 

“ No, Aunt Dilsey ; I like the lire, and you 
know I can’t have it many more evenings. Sit 
down ; I want to ask you something.” 

Aunt Dilsey pushed a big old-fashioned velvet- 
topped stool before the fire and sat down, her 
face turned expectantly toward her mistress. 

“ Aunt Dilsey, you remember that colored 
woman who came here last fall while Mr. Lawton 
was ill ? ” 

The old woman’s face, seen by the leaping 
firelight, was a study. She appeared to grope in 
her memory for some forgotten trifle. 

“ Las’ fall. Miss Marg’ret ? ’Pears like I does 
rickerlec’ sump’n like dat. Wuz it w’en Marse 
Phil wuz sick ? ” 

“ You know it was. Aunt Dilsey ; and you 
know why she came ; I have seen it in your face 
all winter. I want to find the child.” 

“ De Lawd, Miss Marg’ret, w’at you wanter 
do dat fer ? Is you got a misery in yo’ head ? ” 
she asked anxiously. 

Margaret smiled involuntarily. 

Aunt Dilsey,” she said, “ you knew all winter 
the trouble I was in ; but you do not know, I 
think, that Philip and I — there is only love 
between us.” 

“ Bress de Lawd ! ” exclaimed the old woman, 
tears running down her face. ‘‘ I knowed my 


38 


THE MASTER-WORD 


lamb done got comfort somers. Hit’s des a 
pleasure ter grieve atter folks w’at’s lef you 
fergivin’ eii lovin’ um.” 

“ But I want the child. Where does it live ? ” 
« W’at you want wid it, Miss Marg’ret ? Hit 
ain’t de chile’s fault.” 

“ I know. I want to help it. Do you think 
its mother would give it up ? ” 

“She run olf en lef’ hit right atter — las’ 
March. She don’ keer. She wouldn’ er kep’ hit 
dat long on’y she wuz paid.” 

“ But some money was left — ” 

“ She never knowed hit, bress yo’ soul. Ef 
she did, she’d er stayed. She run off ter Saint 
Louie, er Illernoy, er somers up dataway, en 
never tole nobody whar she gwine. She say she 
gwine ’way ter spen’ de day, en give a ’ooman a 
dime ter tek keer de baby ; en Unc’ Lige Moses’ 
boy seen ’er tek de train fer somers dat mawnin’, 
en she tole him she warn’ never cornin’ back no 
mo’ ; en she ain’t.” 

“ Aunt Dilsey ! ” cried Margaret in anguish, 
“ do all these people know ? ” 

“ No, honey. Don’ nobody know ’ceppin’ you 
en me en her. She wuz paid ter keep still, en 
long ez she couldn’ mek nothin’ by lyin’ she kep’ 
’er promise. Nobody ’spected nothin’. De 
lawyer-man w’at Marse Phil sent de money ter, 
he didn’ know who give hit ter Marse Phil ; he 
axed de ’ooman w’at’s got de chile, en she didn’ 
know. I knowed, kaze one time w’en we-all wuz 


THE MASTER-WORD 


39 


in Nashville I went en taxed Sally wid hit, en 
den she tole me ; she wuz skeered not ter.’’ 

Margaret was silent. 

“ De servants down yere don’ know nothin’,” 
Dilsey went on presently ; “ I tole um a whole 
passel er lies — smart lies dey wuz, too,” she 
added, in approving reminiscence ; “ en dey all 
b’lieved me, kaze I ain’t a lyin’ nigger in us’al. 
Miss Marg’ret. I wuz glad I wuzn’t dat day ! ” 

“ Why did you go to see her in Nashville ? ” 

Dilsey hesitated. 

« Don’ ax me, honey,” she said. 

« It doesn’t matter,” said Margaret. « It is 
only the child I want. Aunt Dilsey, will you 
go to Nashville and get it for me ? Bring it 
here as a relative of your own — don’t tell me 
anything you mind ; call it your ward, if you 
like. We will do our best for it together.” 

“ Honey,” asked the old woman, tenderly, “ is 
you got de strenk ? Is you gwine stan’ seein’ 
dat chile yere on de place wid Bess en Dick ? ” 

Her old black hand touched Margaret’s 
tremblingly ; the firm white one clasped it close. 

« I have thought of everything. Aunt Dilsey,” 
she said quietly. «‘You or I will be with the 
children always; they can’t come to any harm. 
And I must do it, for Philip’s sake.” 

Aunt Dilsey came back in a few days, bringing 
the child with her. This time she told no lies. 

“Dish yere’s Elviry Sampson, Sis ’Nervy’s 
gre’t gran’chile,” she announced to the servants. 


40 


THE MASTER-WORD 


“Her gran’mammy dead, en ’er gre’t gran’- 
mammy dead, en ’er ma done run off en lef ’er. 
I’m er gwine ter tek keer un ’er en mek a 
decent nigger outen ’er ef de Lawd gimme de 
strenk, en de peach trees don’ gin out.” 


V 


The long, brilliant summer was over, and 
autumn was already come. Here and there in 
the thickets along the roadside the black-gum 
flaunted its vivid crimson ; the thick green of 
the maples hid leaves that were growing brown 
and dry ; goldenrod blossomed in the fence 
corners ; and down by the brook which ran from 
under the spring-house one might find a few dry 
spears of grass concealed amid the riotous green. 

It was not by signs like these, however, that 
the melancholy season announced itself to Bess. 
Something much more tangible and important 
than a few dead leaves had intruded itself upon 
her consciousness and brought the delightful 
summer to an end : Dick had started to school. 
All day she wandered disconsolate through their 
familiar haunts with Viry following meekly at 
her heels and proffering timid consolation from 
time to time in the guise of cold biscuit, a de- 
jected-looking peach, suggestions of play, and 
friendly conversation. But Bess was proof 
against all seductions. The thing which rankled 
most deeply in her mind, deeper even than the 
woful knowledge that a boy once caught in the 
toils of learning must pursue his painful way 
41 


42 


THE MASTER-WORD 


forever and ever and never stay at home with 
his sister any more, was the recollection of the 
joy with which Dick had started olf. He had a 
new pony and a beautiful lunch-box, and Bruce 
Carleton had come for him and carried him 
away. 

Bruce was a big boy, more than two years 
older than Dick, their nearest child neighbor and 
best friend. He was an orphan, the son of Mar- 
garet’s dearest friend, who had married, against 
her family’s wishes, a penniless school-teacher, 
and had gone with him down to Louisiana, where 
she had lived in poverty and happiness for five 
delightful years. Then, in one short week, she 
and her husband had both died of yellow fever, 
almost the first victims of a sudden epidemic. 

After her husband’s death, and with the same 
fatal malady already pointing out to her the 
path by which she must follow him, she had 
written a letter to the half-brother who had 
reared her and then cast her off, imploring him, 
for the sake of the love he had once borne her, to 
give her child a home. Her husband, she said, 
had insured his life when the boy was born, and 
they had always managed to pay the premiums. 
The income from this small sum would perhaps 
cover the bare expense of maintaining him until 
he should be old enough to go to college. The 
principal was to be spent for his college training ; 
and after that “ I can trust him to make his own 
way,” she wrote, “ and he must know that I ex- 


THE MASTER-WORD 


43 


pect it of him. He is only four years old ; but 
he has his father’s forehead and eyes, and he 
shows already your steady, practical power of 
perseverance. Courage and honor he inherits 
from all of us.” 

William Bruce had read the letter with tears 
in his eyes till he came to the sentence about the 
hoy^s forehead and eyes ; then he had started 
to throw it into the fire. He snatched it back 
just in time, and thrust it angrily into a drawer 
of his desk. He went for the boy himself. In 
his heart he resented his sister’s* dying indepen- 
dence almost more than he did her living rebel- 
lion. If she had once asked for help, either for 
herself or for the child, he would have given 
it gladly ; but he would give nothing unasked. 
He stood in the little house where she had lived 
and died, and set his teeth in a speechless rage 
against womenkind in general and his mother 
and sister in particular. Why had his mother 
ever married again — a handsome, dissolute beast 
of a man who had squandered his own fortune 
and so much of hers as was not tied up for the 
benefit of William, her son ? Why had his 
sister ever been born, and left to him at his 
mother’s death, to find her way into his inner- 
most heart, as his own children had never done ? 
She had been a beautiful girl. She and Mar- 
garet Davison between them had had the pick of 
the men in middle Tennessee; and to marry 
John Carleton, a beggar, a dreamer, a fellow chock 


44 


THE MASTER-WORD 


full of poetry, and as empty of common sense 
as a last year’s gourd ! “ His father’s forehead 

and eyes ! ” What the deuce had she named the 
brat after him for ? He wanted nothing named 
Bruce around him that had Carleton forehead and 
eyes ! 

He brought the boy home and turned him over 
to his wife with orders that he be provided for. 
He gave him his food and a seat by the fire, and 
thought of him as little as possible. If money 
had to be spent for him, he took it out of the 
income from the insurance money, resenting afresh 
every time he did it what he called the damned 
Peyton pride. His step-father had been a Pey- 
ton : Mr. Bruce was aware of no other pride in 
the entire family connection. 

As for Mrs. Bruce, she obeyed her husband’s 
orders to the letter, as she always did. If they 
might be stretched to contain anything beyond 
the letter, she was never conscious of the fact ; 
the all-important part, the letter, as she had 
found to her cost in the first years of her married 
life, was clearly expressed and beyond appeal. 
She was a faded, vapid, selfish little woman, 
jealous of her husband’s old love for his sister, 
and fearful that a reviving tenderness for her 
might some day divert some of his property 
from her own children. She saw with satisfac- 
tion his evident dislike of the little boy, and 
kept him out of the way as much as possible. 

But for Margaret the child would have had a 


THE MASTER-WORD 


45 


lonely life. She had taken him to her heart at 
once. She was the one person who had never 
stood in the slightest awe of William Bruce, and 
he never objected to anything she chose to do. 
The child stayed with her for weeks at a time. 
He was Dick’s constant companion, and from her 
birth Bess’s devoted slave. His cousins were all 
much older than himself, and inclined, moreover, 
to regard him with scant favor, so that Mar- 
garet’s house was his real and only home. He 
called her aunt, and gradually merged into her 
gracious personality his memories of his dead 
mother. Bess regarded him as one of the most 
useful persons in her small world. She took his 
comings and goings as part of the established 
order of things. She could not remember the 
time when school had not laid its mysterious 
claim upon him ; but she did not object to it, 
since Dick was really the best one to play with, 
and Bruce always managed to do for her the 
things she wanted done which were beyond 
Dick’s power. But that Dick too should be 
carried off to school was an unforeseen calamity. 

She wandered at last into the kitchen, buried 
her head in Aunt Dilsey’s lap, and burst into 
tears. Viry, in the doorway, looked helplessly 
on, snuffling in vigorous sympathy. 

“ I clar ter grashus ! ” exclaimed Aunt Dilsey 
in well-feigned consternation. Yere hit’s mos’ 
twelve erclock ! I wuz gwine ter give Dick a 
party w’en ’e come fum school, en now de 


46 


THE MASTER-WORD 


mawnin’ done slipped erway twell I ain’t got 
no time fer ter fix hit. Him en Bruce ’ll be 
cornin’ erlong befo’ I kin tu’n roun’. Ef I had 
somebody ter he’p me — ” 

“Oh, Aunt Dilsey, may we have it at the 
spring-house ? May we ? ” cried Bess, dancing 
up and down, while Viry wriggled and beamed 
behind her. 

“ De spring-’ouse ! ” exclaimed Aunt Dilsey ; 
“ way down dere at de bottom er de hill, en me 
wid de rheumatiz in bofe knees? Who gwine 
tote cheers en dishes ’way down dere ? ” 

“ Viry and I’ll do it. Aunt Dilsey,” said Bess, 
gleefully. “ Oh, please ! ” 

“ You-all is too little ter tote much at er time,” 
said Aunt Dilsey, severely. “ Ef I lets you have 
hit, will you carry de plates one at er time, en 
not spute en quoil, kaze hit’s too much trouble ? ” 
They promised faithfully. Aunt Dilsey, rising 
with much deliberation and painful care of her 
knees, took the little folding table from the 
pantry where it waited for such occasions, and 
started toward the door. Bess and Viry each 
took up one of the little chairs. 

“ Let Viry tote de cheers, honey ; you kin 
have dish yere table-clof. Cheers is too big fer 
you.” 

“ I’m bigger than Viry,” said Bess, proudly. 
“Viry’s a nigger,” said Aunt Dilsey; “hit 
don’ hurt niggers ter tote cheers w’at’s too big 
fer um.” 


THE MASTEE.-WORD 


47 


Bess looked doubtful, but obeyed dutifully. 
Aunt Dilsey led the way through the back yard, 
down the long hill, and set the table in place 
under the beech tree, which spread its great 
arms above the spring-house. The spring-house 
itself was now disused, and stood with its 
thick stone walls and oaken shingles, a relic of 
the days when ice was an almost unknown 
luxury, and milk and butter were kept sweet by 
standing in pans set in the cold spring water 
which bubbled up in the cool darkness of the 
little, windowless house. 

It was a beautiful place for a party. All 
around the hills rose, swelling softly and spread- 
ing into wide, fertile wheat-fields, filled now 
with yellow stubble and ready for the fall plough- 
ing. A dozen beech trees, laden with nuts 
just waiting for the first frosts to ripen them, 
clustered in the little valley, and filled it with 
the shade of their murmuring boughs. The 
stream, flowing out under the southern wall of 
the spring-house, spread into shallow little pools 
where baby feet could splash and wade. Water- 
cresses fringed its banks and lent their crisp, 
cool greenness to the adornment of suitable and 
unsuitable dishes alike. Everywhere the blue- 
grass spread its thick carpet — a carpet em- 
broidered here and there with yellowing, spotted 
leaves, the advance guard of the hosts now 
waving their green banners against the sky. 

Aunt Dilsey sat heavily down on the roots of 


48 


THE MASTER-WORD 


the tree while the children spread the cloth, and 
began, under her direction, the endless journey- 
ings to the house for supplies. 

“ Fer de Ian’ sake, take dish yere puppy wid 
you,” said Parralee, handing down the eatables 
already arranged by Aunt Dilsey on the kitchen 
shelf ; ‘‘ he’s tormint ’nuff w’en Dick’s home ter 
play wid ’im, but he bin stickin’ right under my 
foots all day, yappin’ en barkin’ twell I done got 
plum wo’ out wid ’im. Ef he keeps on stayin’ 
in de kitchen disaway, he gwine nachelly fo’ce 
me ter w’ar stockin’s : I ain’t gwine stan’ ’im 
gnyawin’ on my legs no mo’.” 

Bess laughed and caught the puppy in her 
arms. She carried him down to the spring-house 
and deposited him on the edge of Aunt Dilsey’s 
skirt, where he lay squirming restlessly, but too 
aware of Aunt Dilsey’s threatening eye to run 
about or indulge his propensity for “ gnyawin’.” 

When Bess and Viry made their last trip there 
was only one^plate left for them to carry. Bess 
promptly appropriated it, and then, seeing Viry’s 
look of disappointment, said graciously ; — 

‘‘ You can bring anuvver chair.” 

“ Ain’t nobody ter sit in it,” objected Viry. 
“ We’s got one fer you, en one fer Mr. Dick, 
en one fer Mr. Bruce ; en you gwine fix cushions 
fer Miss Marg’ret, en I gwine stan’ up.” 

« I’ll put ’Hemuff in it,” said Bess, promptly ; 
she never hesitated over anything. Behemoth 
wg^s the puppy. 


THE MASTER-WORD 


49 


Viry laughed delightedly and seized the little 
chair ; but halfway down the hill she stopped. 

“ I ain’t gwine carry no cheer fer a dawg,” she 
announced. “ If dawgs kin come ter de table, 
niggers kin come.” 

u Niggers can’t,” said Bess, decidedly. “ But 
Viry — ” she put her head on one side and sur- 
veyed her companion critically — “ you isn’t a 
nigger ; you’s white.” 

“Aunt Dilsey say I’s a nigger,” said Viry, 
finally. 

“ Well, you isn’ ” — Bess, bold as she was, 
caught her breath as she found herself on the 
edge of this heretical contradiction of authority. 
“You look like you’s white,” she said doubt- 
fully. 

Viry’s face flushed with pleasure under her 
clear olive skin. She was well past her fifth 
birthday, being only a month or two younger 
than Bess, but she was smaller and slighter than 
her companion. Her hair, a dull, purplish black, 
was cropped short, and lay in loose rings over 
her little head. Her features were regular, her 
mouth thin-lipped and sensitive. Her whole 
appearance was of a type not especially rare 
among mulattoes ; and until she lifted her heav- 
ily fringed lids there was nothing markedly to 
distinguish her from any other bit of olive 
humanity. But when she raised her eyes, as 
she did now, looking at Bess, one felt a distinct 
shock ; for not only were they wide and bright, 


50 


THE MASTER-WORD 


as unlike as possible the heavy-lidded dulness of 
negro eyes, but they were blue in color; that 
peculiar pale blue which one sometimes, though 
rarely, sees set in the incongruous darkness of a 
mulatto face, and which witnesses silently to the 
sins of the fathers, and to the visiting of sin 
upon an innocent generation. Her face was 
bright with intelligence, and as she stood looking 
down at the chair in her hands she was distinctly 
pretty. But the thought of beauty fell slain 
before her eyes ; for that which looked out of 
them was white. It looked at Bess now, timid, 
yet appealing. Bess held her plate of tea-cakes 
carefully in one hand and slipped the other 
around Viry’s neck. 

“ You’s lots nicer’n ’Hemuff,” she said ; “ I’ll 
fool Aunt Dilsey so you can come.” 

Her eyes danced with excitement. It was no 
empty boast, as they both knew. Aunt Dilsey’s 
word was supposed to be law ; but with the 
exception of her mother, Bess trod everybody 
under foot, and received none the less their 
admiration as she did so. 

She trotted up to the table now and put down 
her tea-cakes with a face as innocent as the dawn. 
Then she shook back her yellow curls, took the 
chair from Viry, and raising her limpid brown 
eyes said coaxingly : — 

“ Aunt Dilsey, please let me put a place for 
’Hemuff.” 

“ Why, honey,” said Aunt Dilsey, « de puppy’s 


THE MASTEK-WORD 


too little ter come ter de table. He ain’t got no 
mo’ sense dan ter upset de whole party. He 
ain’t got no manners yit ; he des a puppy.” 

“ May he come when he gets big ? ” asked Bess, 
meekly. 

“ W’y, in co’se,” said Aunt Dilsey, charmed 
with her easy victory, and ready to promise any- 
thing for the indefinite future ; “ in co’se he kin 
come w’en ’e gits sense.” 

Then why can’t Viry come ? ” demanded Bess, 
boldly ; “ does God like dogs better’n darkies ? ” 
Aunt Dilsey gazed at her speechless for a 
moment, and then burst into laughter. 

« Ef you ain’t de cutes’, smartes’ chile in dis 
county ! ” she exclaimed, catching Bess up in her 
lap and kissing her in delight. Then, as the 
enormity of the request dawned upon her, she 
felt the need of administering a rebuke. 

“ Dat’s some er yo’ doin’s, Elviry Sampson,” 
she said wrathfully. You go ’long back ter de 
house. I lay I’ll whup de nonsense outen you 
yit — wantin’ ter eat wid de w’ite folks 1 ” 

She didn’t ! ” said Bess, stoutly ; “ I did it my- 
self ; and you said mother used to eat in your house 
with Uncle Eb and your little girl that died ! ” 

“ Dat wuz diffunt,” said Aunt Dilsey. “ Eb’- 
neezer en M’ria wuz slaves, en Miss Marg’ret wuz 
dey little baby mistis. Ef I baked my chillun a 
pone er co’n-bread en dey mistis wanted some, 
she could have hit. She eat often one side, en 
M’ria en Eb’neezer eat often de udder.” 


52 


THE MASTER-WORD 


« But why — ” 

You’s too little ter unnerstan,’ honey,” said 
the old woman ; “ niggers is done got spoilt en 
biggetty dese days; dey ’lows dey’s good ez 
w’ite folks, en dey ain’t. Dey has ter know dey 
place — ef you kin mek um know hit. Ef one 
nigger wuz ter eat wid de w’ite folks, we-all dat 
wuz quality ’ud have ter move outen de county. 
En mo’ dan dat,” she went on, moved dimly by the 
tragedy of Viry’s eyes, “ dis yere chile is er 
nigger, en she ain’t got ter fergit hit one minnit. 
Come yere.” 

Viry came obediently, a puzzled look on her 
little face as she saw the troubled earnestness on 
Aunt Dilsey’s. 

« I knows you ain’t black on de outside like 
me en Par’lee, Elviry,” she said solemnly ; “ but 
dat’s des skin-deep. Ef I wuz ter peel off dis 
yere skin er yo’n, you’d be ez black ez me under- 
neaf. Don’ you en Bess fergit hit ; you’s black. 
En black folks b ’longs wid black folks, en ef dey 
does diffunt, old Satun gits um, sho’. You en yo’ 
Miss Bess kin be good frien’s, same ez Miss 
Marg’ret en my Eb’neezer is good frien’s; but 
Eb’neezer, he er nigger, en he know hit, en Miss 
Marg’ret know hit, too ; she de lady, en he de 
servant ; en hit’s des daterway wid you en Bess. 
De onlies’ place w’at’s w’ite in Viry,” she went 
on impressively, “is her soul. De Lawd puts 
w’ite souls in eve’ybody. Ef de w’ite folks tells 
lies, en don’ mind dey mammies, dey souls tu’ns 


THE MASTER-WORD 


53 


plum’ black, des like my face, en Satun gits um 
eve’y time : en ef de niggers is good, en keeps 
whar dey b’long, en does dey wuk de bes’ dey 
knows how, dey souls is so w’ite Satun won’ 
have um, en dey goes ter hev’m wid de w’ite 
folks ; dey’s w’ite deyse’f.” 

“Can they come to the white folks’ parties 
in heaven ? ” asked Bess, much impressed by the 
old woman’s unwonted solemnity. 

“ I dunno, honey,” she answered doubtfully ; 
“ de Lawd ain’t say nothin’ ’bout dat. But dey’s 
w’ite. En hit’s bekaze I wants Elviry ter be 
w’ite den dat she ain’t gwine ter be settin’ down 
wid no w’ite folks now.” 

A sudden shout made the children look up. 
Dick and Bruce were running down the hill. 
Bess wriggled out of Aunt Dilsey’s lap and ran 
to meet them, half smothering Dick with her 
embraces. 

“ We’s got a party,” she announced gleefully. 
“ Le’s go get mother.” 

The three ran back to the house and reappeared 
with Margaret. Dilsey rose respectfully as they 
approached and went to the house. The chil- 
dren, after seating Margaret among the cushions 
where the roots of the tree formed a natural seat, 
took their places at the table, while Viry trotted 
contentedly about, waiting on them, until the 
meal was nearly finished, when she retired with 
her own portion to a near-by root, listening to, and 
occasionally joining in, the eager talk of the others. 


VI 


Margaket’s altered life settled into an accus- 
tomed round, and the years slipped by unheeded. 
After Philip’s death, when, as sole legatee and 
administratrix of his estate, she had made an 
examination of his affairs, she found that almost 
the whole of his own large fortune, as well as 
that part of her own which w^as not invested in 
her home and plantation, had been sunk in a 
western railroad speculation which, even up to 
the time of his death, had apparently promised 
great returns. Her plantation, however, even as 
inherited from her mother, was one of the largest 
and richest of that rich section ; and Philip had 
added to it from time to time, as adjoining lands 
had come upon the market. Her position was 
one of comfortable independence ; but she wished, 
for Philip’s sake, to pass on to their children an 
inheritance unimpaired by his misfortunes ; it 
was still another way of proving her new one- 
ness with him. Her own wants and those of the 
children were of the simplest. She reduced the 
staff of servants to the basis of necessity, sold 
most of the driving horses, and sent for Eben- 
eezer. Aunt Dilsey’s son, to take the management 
of the farm under her direction. 

64 


THE MASTER-WORD 


55 


Ebene^zer lived a mile or more up the road 
on the farm which Margaret’s mother had be- 
queathed to Aunt Dilsey, and which she had 
promptly turned over to her son. For herself, 
she had no intention, “long ez her head wuz 
hot,” as she expressed it, of leaving the cabin in 
the yard where she had been born, or the service 
of the family to whom, in her own thought, she 
still belonged ; and while she greatly respected 
her daughter-in-law, she was not at all sorry to 
have her settled at this convenient distance, in- 
stead of in the near-by cabin where they had 
lived so long as Ebeneezer had rented land from 
his former owners. 

Ebeneezer had married when he was quite a 
boy, and his wife, some years his senior, had 
taught the public school to which his mother 
sent him, with a full determination to stop him 
as soon as he could read the Bible and “do 
sums.” Beyond this she had small use for edu- 
cation, except for white folks ; and she never felt 
quite easy in the presence of her learned daugh- 
ter-in-law, whom she long suspected of uncanny 
and dangerous knowledge. As a matter of fact, 
Jane’s education was by no means so extensive 
as Aunt Dilsey supposed ; but it was supple- 
mented by sturdy character and an uncommon 
amount of hard common sense. She continued 
Ebeneezer’s instruction unsparingly after their 
marriage, but she worked as hard as if, in Aunt 
Dilsey’s phrase, “ she didn’ know nothin’ but 


THE MASTER-WORD 



cookin’ en scrubbin’.” They cleared money year 
by year. Since moving to their own place, they 
had enlarged their house and added to its com^ 
forts, bought more land, and opened a bank ac- 
count. Ebeneezer’s word was as good as his 
bond, and any white man in the county would 
have trusted him without question. His wife 
inspired him with ideals and ambitions for their 
children ; the oldest was preparing to study 
medicine in Nashville, while his next brother 
was destined for a teacher, and the youngest boy 
was to stick to the farm. 

His new position as overseer of Mrs. Lawton’s 
plantation paid Ebeneezer well, but it took his 
whole time, and left his own farm to Jane, with 
such help as the boys could give her out of school 
hours. She not only rose to the occasion herself, 
but she saw to it that the boys rose too. 

“ Minute your book-learnin’ makes you too fine 
to work your education stops short off, June 
Davison,” she announced. June was named for 
his father, and to avoid confusion was known 
by this abbreviation of Junior. “ Long as your 
ma can scrub, an’ your pa can fling a hoe in the 
corn-field, you can chop wood an’ plough, if you 
get to be wise as Moses” — a decision from which 
there was no appeal. 

Margaret, herself, took an active part in the 
management of her property, and surprised and 
delighted Ebeneezer by her shrewdness and busi- 
ness ability. He had looked up to her all her 


THE MASTER-WORD 


57 


life as a cross between a humming-bird and an 
angel ; to find her possessed of “ as good a head 
for business as ever Marse Philip had,’’ was an 
unexpected good fortune. Between them they 
made the plantation pay ; and Margaret, still 
living in great simplicity, looked forward to the 
• time when Dick should finish college and enter 
upon his profession with a comfortable bank ac- 
count to his credit. 

Just what his profession was to be she could 
not tell, though she early gave up the hope that 
he would follow that of his father ; he was too 
shy and solitary in his tastes, too averse to argu- 
ment, or to the company of any but his imme- 
diate home companions. She could find no trace 
of the instinct of leadership. This she grieved 
over in secret, as a woman will who, herself 
capable of leadership, suppresses that power for 
love of her husband and her home, and fuses all 
her personal ambitions into a hope for her son’s 
future. He was a warm-hearted boy, devoted in 
his quiet way to Bess and to Bruce, but worship- 
ping his mother with a passionate intensity 
which grew steadily with his growth. Next to 
these three he loved books, and the beautiful 
country around his home. He was a silent fel- 
low, old beyond his years. While still almost a 
child, he began to interest himself in the man- 
agement of the farm, not, as his mother divined, 
from any liking for business, eyen in its simplest 
aspects, but because his love for her impelled him 


58 


THE MASTER-WORD 


to find some way to help her. Whatever he set 
his hand to, he mastered ; and more and more 
she learned to depend on his judgment and to 
follow his advice. He had never outgrown his 
early delicacy ; and as Bess grew up, strong, 
supple, overflowing with life and energy, riding 
like a young whirlwind, climbing trees, fishing, 
shooting, walking unheard-of distances, Bruce 
became more and more her companion out of 
doors, ready always to fall in with any madcap 
plan, and to outdo her in her own game, what- 
ever it might be. But Margaret, watching her 
two children in the evenings, when Bess bent her 
red-brown head close to Dick’s fair one, while 
they examined his latest “specimen,” or read 
together from some book, felt sure that there 
was no danger of the two growing apart; only 
Bess should have been the boy, she thought, 
with her independence, her abounding energy, 
her easy mastership of those about her. 

Bess herself would have rejoiced in being a 
boy, and above all things in heaven and earth 
resented her lengthening skirts. She reached 
her full growth rapidly, being during all her 
childhood unusually large for her age ; but at 
fourteen she suddenly stopped just short of 
middle height, while Viry, keeping steadily on, 
outgrew her a full three inches. She cared 
nothing whatever for personal adornment, de- 
manding only “ clothes easy to get into,” and 
tying her curls back with a hard hand and a 


THE MASTER-WORD 


59 


tight knot in the ribbon. But nothing could 
hide her beauty. Bareheaded, as she ran in all 
weather over the farm, her skin was like a blush 
rose. Her eyes, of a deep, clear brown, sparkled 
with health and intelligence, and flung a laugh- 
ing challenge to all the world, while about her 
lips there lurked perpetual smiles. Her hair, 
deep brown in the shadows, shone with red and 
gold where it caught the light as it rippled from 
the roots to the loose, soft curls falling below her 
waist. Next to her skirts, these curls were her 
greatest trial ; but her mother and Dick took 
such pleasure in them that she early ceased beg- 
ging to have them cropped. After all, she was 
a girl, and there was no way of getting out of 
it ; and she accepted the inevitable with a laugh- 
ing mockery of her own impatience of it, trying 
merely to wrest from life such fun as a girl could 
— an occupation in which she found Bruce’s help 
invaluable. 

Bruce was proving himself a clear-headed, 
practical boy, more or less obstinate, except where 
Bess was concerned, putting through to a flnish 
everything he undertook with a dogged determi- 
nation which nothing could turn aside. Notwith- 
standing this quality he was a friendly fellow, 
popular at school both with teachers and pupils, 
the more so that he never thrust himself forward 
in any way, though he proved quietly capable of 
any task committed to him. The ‘‘Carleton fore- 
head and eyes” seemed to have been inherited 


60 


THE MASTER-WORD 


from some more distant ancestor than his own 
father ; for if he had the tendency to dream and 
to idealize, Bess alone appealed to it, a fact 
which perhaps accounted for the strength of her 
hold upon him, but of which he himself was 
quite unconscious. He only knew that Bess 
filled his world, and had always filled it, and 
always would. He even forced himself to toler- 
ate Viry because of her love for Bess. 

Neither Bess nor Dick had found it necessary 
to tolerate Viry; she had made her own place, 
and filled it as a matter of course. Dick, indeed, 
rarely thought of her; but when he did it was 
with that genuine, but impersonal kindliness 
which he kept for all the world outside the 
charmed circle of his affections, where his mother 
reigned supreme, with Bess and Bruce for her 
only companions, and Aunt Dilsey, at a respect- 
ful distance, as attendant satellite. Bess, for her 
part, was very fond of Viry, and would have 
made a genuine sacrifice to give her pleasure or 
to avoid hurting her ; yet she was chiefly, as was 
natural, the passive recipient of Viry’s passion- 
ate affection. They had always played together. 
Viry had been a much less vigorous child than 
Bess, and was physically indolent ; she hated to 
wade in cold water, she was afraid to climb trees, 
she trembled when she galloped bareback across 
the fields ; but where Bess went she followed, 
drawn by something she could not resist. She 
lived outdoors until her slender little body grew 


THE MASTER-WORD 


61 


strong and vigorous, and though she could never 
outrun Bess, or outdo her in any “ stunt,” she 
learned to keep up with her, neck and neck. As 
the children grew older Bruce once or twice 
objected to her companionship, and thereby 
promptly drew upon himself the full contents of 
the outpoured vials of Bess’s wrath. 

“ I don’t care if she is a darky,” Bess declared ; 
« I’ve always played with her, and as long as she 
wants to come, she shall. Play and darkies 
go together, anyhow, and I mean to play till 
I go to college — and afterward, too, if I like. 
If it doesn’t suit you, you can go home — 
pig ! ” 

« I’m not a pig ! ” said Bruce, wrathfully. “ I 
just don’t think it’s nice to have that darky tag- 
ging around every time we go anywhere.” 

“ She never tags,” said Bess, warming to the 
fray out of pure love of battle as she often did. 
<‘Viry and I go somewhere, and you tag, and 
we let you.” 

“ Great Scott ! ” exclaimed Bruce. He stopped, 
crimson and speechless. Bess laughed in spite of 
herself, and in spite of himself Bruce caught the 
contagion and laughed too. 

«If she were just a plain, everyday darky I 
wouldn’t mind so much,” he explained ; “ but 
she’s such a horrid, uncanny-looking creature ; 
she gives me the creeps.” 

Uncanny!” exclaimed Bess, indignantly; 
« why, she’s like a picture ! Just think what 


THE MASTERr-WORD 


(3 

perfect features she has, and the way you can 
see her color come and go.” 

“Yes, and think about her eyes,” said Bruce, 
with disgust; “they look like an old second- 
hand pair that somebody’d had out bleaching 
for ages before she got ’em. I never saw such a 
looking darky in my life; she’s worse than a 
hoodoo.” 

“Nonsense!” said Bess, impatiently. “She’s 
coming now. Do be nice to her, Bruce. It 
would break her heart if I should send her back ; 
you know it would.” 

“ Oh, let her come along,” he said good- 
naturedly, unconsciously assuming a power of 
permission he did not possess. “ I don’t wonder 
she wants to come ; you’d make a dummy have 
a good time.” 

Bess accepted the compliment graciously, and 
the three trudged olT with their fishing poles, 
Viry carrying a little box of lunch, which ex- 
plained her delay. 

Though Bruce had no suspicion of it, no less a 
person than Margaret herself was troubled over 
Viry’s fondness for Bess. What disturbed her 
was not the quantity of the affection — it could 
hardly be greater than Aunt Dilsey’s love for 
Margaret herself — but its quality. From the 
very first, and quite unconsciously, Viry had 
held herself aloof from the colored children who 
came to the place in the wake of their fathers 
^ and mothers. Her cousins, Ebeneezer’s children, 


THE MASTER-WORD 


63 


she was more frequently thrown in with, but she 
treated them with a cavalier condescension which 
aroused their own and their mother’s liveliest 
resentment. 

“ I don’t like them,” was the only explanation 
she could give Aunt Dilsey ; “I like Mr. Dick 
and Miss Bess.” 

‘‘In co’se you likes yo’ w’ite folks, chile,” said 
Aunt Dilsey, impatiently ; “ I ain’t never ’cused 
you er bein’ er plumb fool. But dese yere chil- 
luns er Eb’neezer’s — June en Jackson en Pete 
— dey’s yo’ kin. You mus’ love um.” 

“But I don’t,” said Viry, helplessly. 

Margaret heard this story with misgivings the 
summer that Viry was seven years old ; but it 
little prepared her for the frantic outburst which 
came that fall when Bess and Viry began their 
school days, Bess at a private school in Fulton 
and Viry at the county school for negroes. Bess 
started otf gayly enough, and came home the first 
day radiant with a consciousness of new worlds 
to conquer ; she had already made a dozen friends. 
But Viry, whose school was much nearer home, 
had come back earlier, and with a pale, set face, 
had gone straight to Margaret in the sitting 
room. 

“ Miss Marg’ret,” she said, quietly enough, and 
then, her self-control swept quite away by the 
necessity for speech, she suddenly dropped to the 
floor at Margaret’s side and burst into a passion 
of tears. 


64 


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“ What is it, Viry ? ” she asked in concern. 

“ I don’t want to go to school ! ” she sobbed ; 
“ I can’t — I won’t ! ” 

“ Why ? ” asked Margaret, putting her hand 
on the child’s shoulder. « Was any one unkind to 
you ? If they were, I will speak to Susan about 
it ; she won’t let any one trouble you.” 

Susan was the teacher, and Margaret had 
known her all her life. Viry still shook with 
sobs ; but at last Margaret made out that some 
of the girls had put their arms around her, and 
one of them had tried to kiss her. 

“ I hate ’em ! ” she said furiously, her tears 
dried and her eyes burning ; ‘‘I hate niggers ! ” 

“Why, Viry,” said Margaret, with a sudden 
shock. She looked full into the pale, angry eyes 
for a moment, drawing her breath sharply as she 
did so ; then she said gravely : — 

“You must not hate any one, Viry ; I have 
tried to teach you a better way than that.” 

Viry looked at her defiantly. 

“They shan’t touch me,” she said. 

“ No,” said Margaret ; “ I will speak to Susan 
about it. And they won’t want to touch you if 
you don’t like them ; but after you have been 
there long enough to make friends with them 
perhaps you will like best one of those very girls 
with whom you are so angry now. Still, if you 
don’t, you must remember that they mean to be 
kind, and you must be kind to them.” 

“ I don’t want to go back ! I don’t want to 


THE MASTER-WORD 


65 


be kind ! I hate ’em ! ” sobbed Viry, relapsing 
into tears again. “Please, Miss Margaret, let 
me stay home. I want to stay with Miss Bess.” 

“You can’t stay with Miss Bess always, Viry,” 
answered Margaret. “ You both have your work 
to do in the world, and it isn’t the same kind of 
work. You can always be friends, but you can’t 
possibly be together always.” 

Viry’s sobs broke out afresh. Margaret quieted 
her as best she could, while still insisting that 
she must go back to school the next day. She 
stopped crying after a while, and sat in silence 
while Margaret talked on, groping blindly after 
the right words, and desperately conscious of not 
finding them. At last the child rose, a look of 
dumb misery on her face, and walked slowly to 
the door. As she opened it she turned and 
looked full at Margaret, a look freighted with the 
passive endurance of the race she had so passion- 
ately repudiated, and went out. 

For some time Margaret put her hope in the 
daily associations of the school ; but Viry made 
no friends. She led the class without effort, 
and despised all whom she outstripped. She 
made no more complaints, at first because she 
knew it to be useless, and later because she be- 
gan to understand that it was necessary to go in 
order to keep up with Bess. With the help of 
what she learned at school she was able to study 
by herself at home ; she seized upon Bess’s books 
as they were finished and thrown aside, and 


66 


THE MASTER-WORD 


mastered them, with occasional help from Bess. 
So far as Mrs. Lawton could see, even after 
several years had gone by, her one motive was 
merely a consuming desire to know whatever 
Bess knew, to keep up with her mental progress 
as she kept up with her physically in their races 
over the hills. The child seemed to find nothing 
else worth living for. 

Margaret was greatly troubled. She finally 
decided to send Viry away to school in order to 
break off her association with Bess, and, if pos- 
sible, by throwing her with a brighter class of 
colored children, to enable her to form friendships 
with those of her own race. Aunt Dilsey quite 
agreed with her mistress, and when Viry was 
thirteen she was sent to a school of which Mar- 
garet had personal knowledge, and for whose 
white teachers she had thorough respect. 

It Was a hard time for Viry and for every one 
interested in her. Her protests, when she was 
first told of the arrangement, were those of some 
wild creature, trapped and crazed. Bess cried in 
sympathy for her, and begged with all her might 
that Viry be kept at home ; but finding it all to 
no purpose, turned her attention to comforting 
Viry, which also proved a hopeless task. The 
storm raged for several days, and then the wave 
of Viry’s passion crested, and broke against 
Margaret. 

“ It’s you that’s doing it ! ” she burst out. 
“ I could scare Aunt Dilsey and make her stop. 


THE MASTER-WORD 


67 


You have always made me do things. Why 
can’t you let me alone ? I’m none of your busi- 
ness, am I ? — Oh, I hate you, I hate you ! ” 
She dodged Aunt Dilsey’s sudden lunge and ran 
out of the room, slamming the door behind her. 

“Miss Marg’ret,” said Aunt Dilsey, horrified 
and ashamed, “you mus’ let dat chile go. You 
done borne wid ’er pas’ all reason. Sen’ her ter 
dat school en don’ never let ’er come back ; she 
ain’ fitten. I lay I give ’er one good whuppin’ ’fo’ 
she go, en den I’s done.” 

“ Don’t touch her. Aunt Dilsey. She doesn’t 
know what she says, and we can’t expect her to 
understand. Be patient with her, and wait.” 

Aunt Dilsey sniffed indignantly ; but Mar- 
garet’s word was law. Viry, coming up after 
dark from the spring-house where she had taken 
refuge, and creeping into the cabin for the last 
time, expecting a whipping as a matter of course, 
was allowed to go to bed unmolested. She lay 
there hour after hour, weak with the force of 
her spent passion, her swollen eyes staring up 
through the darkness, her slender body shaken 
now and then by a slow, long-drawn sob. Aunt 
Dilsey, herself lying awake, heard the child, and 
her heart melted more and more. After all, she 
loved Viry dearly. She rose at last with many 
wheezings, and made her way to the little bed. 

“Honey,” she said tenderly, “come yere ter 
me.” 

Viry drew in her breath quickly, and then, as 


68 


THE MASTER-WORD 


she felt Aunt Dilsey’s arm slip under her shoul- 
ders, turned and clasped her convulsively. The 
old woman soothed and comforted her for a long 
time, until at last the tense little body relaxed, 
and she fell asleep. 

She went away very quietly next morning, in 
Ebeneezer’s care. Aunt Dilsey was sent to spend 
Christmas with her, and when she came back the 
next summer, bringing with her the record of an 
excellent year’s work, Margaret congratulated her- 
self that the new plan was working well. Viry’s 
eyes followed Bess with the old adoring look, and 
occasionally she joined her in some expedition 
about the plantation ; but for the most part she 
kept closely with Aunt Dilsey, helping her in the 
lighter tasks about the house, and sitting with 
her in the evening on her cabin porch where the 
water-maple swayed against the sky overhead 
and the moon dappled the yard with shadows. 

But though she was quiet and outwardly con- 
tent Margaret found it impossible to gain her 
confidence in any degree. She was perfectly 
respectful; but she met any attempt to pene- 
trate to her inner life with a speechless resistance 
which baffled all Margaret’s art. She was forced 
at last to give up the effort ; for the time the 
only help which she could give the girl was such 
as she could not recognize as coming from her. 

In September she went back to school, this 
time without resistance, and continued there, 
year after year, until she was prepared to enter 


THE MASTER-WORD 


69 


one of the best of the negro colleges. Margaret 
had decided that she should be prepared to teach. 
To this, as to everything, Viry gave only a pas- 
sive assent ; but as she could not be brought to 
express a preference in any other direction, and 
as it seemed to promise a more congenial life 
than any other profession which was open to her, 
Mrs. Lawton settled the question finally herself. 


VII 


At seventeen Bruce entered college. It had 
for years been Margaret’s intention to defray the 
expenses of his college course in order that he 
might start in life with his small capital unim- 
paired ; but he refused to consider her proposal. 

“I have money enough for a course in Nash- 
ville and a year at the North,” he said, “ and that 
is all I need. If I work hard enough in the 
summer I can get my academic and engineering 
degrees together in five years ; then I can go 
North for a year. If I need anything more I 
can work awhile and make the money ; I’ll know 
enough by that time to do that.” 

“ But, Bruce, I have planned it all these years. 
You might show a little kindness to your mother’s 
dearest friend.” 

“It is because you were her dearest friend 
that you should respect her wishes,” said Bruce, 
an obstinate look on his handsome, boyish face. 
“ You know what she wrote to my uncle : she 
meant for me to make every inch of my own 
way beyond what she and my father could pro- 
vide for. I’ve meant to do it all my life. I can’t 
take favors from anybody, even from you.” 

70 


THE MASTER-WORD 


71 


Margaret protested in vain. 

“You must at least remember that I am her 
representative,” she said at last, “ and if you need 
anything, come to me ; you can’t think she would 
mind your taking it as a loan.” 

“ I would mind it myself. Aunt Margaret,” he 
answered frankly ; “ you see it’s because I think 
just as she did ; and I won’t need any help.” 

The next year Dick, though only sixteen, was 
ready to follow Bruce. 

“You may go North if you prefer it, Dick,” 
said his mother : “ I want you to choose for 
yourself.” 

“ I choose Vanderbilt, mother,” he answered ; 
“ I’m not going anywhere away from you for 
four years. I can come home every week and 
help you about a lot of things. You know 
you’re getting to depend on me, if I am only 
a boy ; and I’ll be a regular crank if I let go of 
everything but books for four whole years. I 
need the farm to keep me straight.” He smiled 
whimsically, but his gray eyes were as steady as 
Margaret’s own. 

“ But, my son, you can’t be always tied to the 
farm ; you must think of your profession.” 

Dick flushed. 

“ Mother,” he said, awkwardly, taking her hand 
and drawing it gently across his eyes that he 
might not see her face, “don’t be too disap- 
pointed in me ; I don’t want a profession. I 
have thought about it a long time. There will 


72 


THE MASTEK-WOKD 


be plenty of money for Bess, and half the farm 
besides ; and I want to live right here. I know 
I can make you comfortable, and I don’t want 
much myself but books and no bothering people 
around. I hate business and politics and all 
that ; and what’s the use of doing what bores 
you so ? ” 

“ But, dear, you won’t always be alone. When 
you marry you will want to provide for your 
wife as our men have always provided for their 
women.” 

“ I won’t have her to provide for,” said Dick, 
with conviction. “ I’ll never find anybody like 
you ; and I won’t have a wife who can’t stand 
comparison with my mother.” 

Margaret smiled and shook her head. 

“Wouldn’t you like to teach, dear?” she 
urged. “That would keep you with your books. 
You could study in Europe after you finish here. 
There is no reason why you should not have a 
chair in one of the great universities some day 
— the distinguished Dr. Richard Lawton.” Her 
lips smiled, but her eyes appealed. He should 
be distinguished only in some fine, high way ; 
but her son must be known among men. 

Dick shook his head. 

“ It isn’t in me to teach,” he said. “ I don’t 
like to mix with people, either. Of course, if 
something happened to make it necessary, I 
wouldn’t shirk, I hope ; but there isn’t any- 
thing like that, mother.” 


THE MASTER-WORD 


73 


Margaret looked at him a moment, her eyes 
clearing. 

“You’re just a boy,” she said, “the dearest 
boy in all the world ; but you can’t tell yet 
what the man will want. We will wait.” 

He bent toward her and kissed her. 

“ Spoonies ! ” laughed Bess, dancing in through 
the window from the piazza. “ If I weren’t the 
sweetest thing in the world, as Aunt Dilsey says 
I am, I’d be so jealous of you two that my feel- 
ings would be lacerated past repair by this time. 
Diccon, if you’re ever that maudlin about any- 
body but mother, I’ll cut your acquaintance.” 

“ I’ll agree to that,” said Dick, promptly, mak- 
ing room for her on the old sofa and slipping an 
arm about her waist ; “ but it’s time for you to 
be getting a little maudlin yourself. Do you 
realize that I’m going to college next week ? ” 

“ Well, you’ll come home for Sundays, thank 
Heaven,” said Bess, who found a bright side to 
every situation. “ And oh, mother, I’ve had such 
a lark ! I met that sour old Mr. Bruce, « right in 
de middle er de big road,’ as Aunt Dilsey says, 
and the way I went for him about Bruce ! He 
took off his hat to mop his forehead — it was 
my flow of language that heated him, for it’s 
cooler than usual to-day — and his fuzz of hair 
stood up all over his head as stiff as so many 
spikes.” 

“ Why, Bess,” said her mother in amazement, 
“ what on earth did you say to him ? ” 


74 


THE MASTER-WORD 


“ I just asked him if he’d applied for Bruce’s 
pass yet,” said Bess, sweetly, “ and of course he 
asked me what I meant ; so I told him I knew 
he’d forgotten about it last year, but that I was 
sure he wouldn’t again. I told him Dick was 
coming home every week because you had the 
money to buy him tickets, and that since Bruce 
hadn’t any money to spare for tickets it was 
such a good thing that his uncle was a director 
in the railroad and could get him a pass for the 
asking. I thanked him for it beforehand, and 
told him how obliged we all were to him, and 
what fun it would be to have you and Bruce 
coming home every week, and how lovely it was 
for a boy to have an uncle like him — the old — 
critter ! ” 

She laughed joyously, and Dick joined in. 

« What did the old ramrod say ? ” he de- 
manded. “ Is he going to get it ? ” 

“ Faith, and he will,” said Bess, serenely, «« and 
I wrung a hard-earned compliment out of him, 
too, mother — a nice one. He told me to go 
home and tell my mother I was as saucy as 
Margaret Davison, and as pretty. It shocks me 
dreadfully, mother, to think of your being saucy!” 
« I was never that bad,” she answered, smiling ; 
but I wish you and Dick could understand Mr. 
Bruce a little better. He isn’t really a hard man ; 
he loved Janet dearly, and losing her soured 
him ; and it’s so hard for him to give up his 
own way.” 


THE MASTER-WORI) 


75 


“Just listen ! ” cried Bess. “ Pretending to be 
saintly and charitable because that bald-headed 
old thing said she was pretty ! But he didn’t 
say you, mother; he said Margaret Davison — 
Margaret Lawton doesn’t count. Now don’t 
you think he’s worse than soured ? ” 

“ I think he showed sense when he called you 
saucy,” said Dick, rising and pulling her after 
him. “ I promised Uncle Eb to go to Fulton 
about the new harness for the mules this after- 
noon. Come along.” 

They ran off together, and indeed stayed 
together pretty closely until Dick went off with 
Bruce. Both the boys came home every week, 
for not long after Bess’s hold-up, as Dick called 
it, she received a large envelope addressed to 
Miss Elizabeth Davison Lawton, containing a 
pass for Bruce, good until the first of January. 
On the paper was written merely “ With the 
compliments of William Bruce ; ” and in the 
corner, as an after-thought, “ When this expires, 
ask for another.” 

“ He would really like to help Bruce, Pm sure,” 
said Margaret, “ if the boy would only give him 
a chance.” 

“ He ought not to wait for a chance,” said Bess, 
indignantly ; “ and if I were Bruce, I never would 
make one for him, I know. I think Bruce is 
exactly right to go ahead and do everything for 
himself and not take anybody’s help, Pve told 
him so forty times. But it’s all right for me to 


76 


THE MASTER-WORD 


get the pass,” she added, “ and I’ll keep on doing 
it, too.” 

When Bruce came home he usually stayed at 
Margaret’s, and each fresh glimpse of Bess con- 
vinced hirn anew of her beauty, her sweetness, 
and general irresistibleness. One year slipped 
by after another, and by the time Bess was six- 
teen Bruce began seriously to question the wis- 
dom of his decision not to make love to her until 
he was in a position to support a wife. In an- 
other year she would go to college, and after 
grave deliberation through the summer he con- 
cluded that he would speak to her the next year, 
before she left ; he couldn’t trust her so far away 
without some definite pledge to hold her to him, 
and he himself would then have only a year of 
post-graduate work left between him and his 
profession. He settled the wisdom of this course 
beyond dispute, and stuck to it manfully all 
summer ; but with the near approach of another 
separation he began to think a year a very long 
time to wait, especially when he had waited so 
long already. He spent one morning in the woods 
in deep cogitation, and when he turned back to the 
house the gleam in his eye and the set of his square 
jaw proclaimed the time of action upon him. 

Bess was not to be found. Dick had gone to 
Fulton to see about some shipments of grain, and 
his mother had driven in with him for some shop- 
ping ; Viry was helping Aunt Dilsey polish the 
silver, and Bruce had disappeared. Thus left to 


THE MASTER-WORD 


77 


her own resources, Bess had caught up a book and 
retired to the spring-house beech. She sat there, 
absorbed in the woes of Maggie Tulliver, until a 
splash on the page too high up for one of her own 
tears made her suddenly aware that a shower 
was not only coming, but had actually arrived. 
Reading would be out of the question in the 
dark little spring-house, and the barn was nearer 
than the house. She remembered the old delights 
of the hay-loft, which had been one of her retreats 
as a child, and scudding down the little valley 
was soon curled comfortably up in her old quar- 
ters and once more buried in her book. 

Bruce, having failed to find her in the house, 
was searching the plantation over, and on his way 
to the spring-house beech was also driven by the 
shower to the shelter of the barn. Bess did not 
hear him come in, and he stood by the door 
waiting for the rain to pass, sure now that she 
must have returned to the house. Just as he was 
going out again a smothered sound from the hay- 
loft made him pause. 

“ Who’s that ? ” he called. 

“ Mercy ! ” cried Bess, startled by the inter- 
ruption, “ are you there, Bruce ? What’s the 
matter ? ” 

As she spoke there was a scrambling sound in 
the hay, and her face, flushed, and with eyes 
suspiciously red, peered at him over the mound 
of hay. 

“ There’s nothing the matter if the girl I love 


78 


THE MASTER-WORD 


only cares for me,” said Bruce, overjoyed and 
half frightened by his unexpected good fortune. 
“ Let me come up there and tell you, Bess.” 

“ Great Caesar’s ghost ! ” exclaimed Bess, with 
infinite scorn. She slid promptly down to the 
bottom of her hollow, and her voice came to him 
muffled by the hay. “ Go away. Who wants 
to listen to maudlin nonsense about some idiot 
of a girl ? I did think you had more sense, Bruce 
Carleton ! ” 

“ It’s not maudlin,” said Bruce, indignantly. 
“ I tell you I’m coming up.” He put one foot 
on the ladder. 

Bess scrambled to the top of the hay again 
and looked down at him, her curls full of straws. 

« Don’t you dare to come up!” she said threat- 
eningly. ‘H’ll throw the ladder down if you do.” 
She caught it by the top rung and shook it. 
Bruce stopped. 

“ What are you reading ?” he demanded. Is 
it a love-story ? You were crying, Bess.” 

“ I don’t care if I was. I’ve got a right to cry 
if I want to.” 

“ Is it a love-story ? ” he insisted. 

“ It’s ‘ The Mill on the Floss,’ if you want to 
know ; but I wasn’t crying over any ‘ lovering ’ ; 
it’s this horrid brother of Maggie’s that I can’t 
stand. Now go off.” 

« But, Bess, I told you I love — a girl. I must 
tell you about it while we’re by ourselves. I 
want to know what you think about it.” 


THE MASTER-WORD 


79 


“ I think you’re a goose,” said Bess, promptly, 
•‘and she’s another. But I would like to know 
about it,” she added more graciously, after a 
moment’s reflection. “Is she a Nashville girl?” 

“No,” said Bruce, scornfully. “ Nashville girls 
can’t hold a candle to her. She lives down here.” 

“ Here ? ” exclaimed Bess, new interest dawn- 
ing in her eyes. “ Oh, Bruce, is it that frizzle- 
headed Molly Caldwell ? ” 

“Do you think I’m a fool?” demanded Bruce. 
“ Why, Bess, you ought to know. Who could it 
be but you — the dearest, sweetest, prettiest girl 
in the world ? I’ve loved you all my life, and I 
can’t wait another minute to tell you so ! ” 

Bess had disappeared. Her face had turned 
absolutely scarlet to the roots of her hair, and 
her eyes threatened to start from her head. After 
one apoplectic stare she had slid down into the 
hay again without a word. 

Bruce leaned against the ladder, breathless and 
trembling. 

“ Bess ! ” he called after a moment’s silence. 
There was no reply. 

« Bess — darling ! ” he ventured again, half 
choked by his own audacity, yet thrilled by the 
consciousness that for once her saucy tongue was 
silenced. Even this boldness went unrebuked, 
and Bruce, after another pause, filled only by the 
beating of his own heart, sprang up the ladder 
and looked down into the hay. There was no 
one there. 


80 


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« Bess ! ” he called, “ where are you ? ” 

There was no answer, and he groped about in 
the shadows in the corners of the loft, even thrust- 
ing his arms into the loose hay, and wondering 
more and more at her disappearance. Presently, 
far at the back of the loft, he discovered an open 
place above one of the stalls, and on the post 
which supported a cross-beam three or four long 
red -brown hairs swung from a nail and glinted 
golden in a ray of light that slipped through a 
crack in the boards. He sprang down, but the 
stalls were empty, and the door at the end stood 
wide open. He ran through it, and saw a blue 
gingham, surmounted by a waving mane of red- 
brown hair, running up the steps of the back 
porch, several hundred yards away. He started 
in pursuit, but when he reached the house Mar- 
garet had returned, and she and Bess were deep 
in bundles in the sitting room. 

He was staying at Margaret’s that week, and 
accepted the interruption of lunch as best he 
could, being determined to push the matter to 
an issue at once. He ate very little lunch, and 
appeared so gloomy that Margaret feared he was 
ill. Bess sat opposite to him, as usual, in the 
evident possession of her customary excellent 
appetite. She slipped out, however, as soon as 
lunch was over, while Bruce, following her, was 
stopped for a moment by Margaret. When he 
went to look for her she had again disappeared. 
A message sent her by Viry elicited the fact that 


THE MASTER-WORD 


81 


she was not in her room, and he satisfied himself 
that she was nowhere about the house. The 
hay-loft was empty, the beech deserted, and he 
was wandering disconsolately through the orchard, 
when among the leaves of an old apple tree he 
caught a gleam of blue. He ran to the spot and 
climbed into the fork of the tree. Bess was a little 
above him, halfway out on a limb too high above 
the ground to be jumped from. 

“ At last I have caught you ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ Oh, have you ? ” said Bess. She swung one 
foot defiantly. , 

Bruce felt that he had made a bad beginning, 
but it was too late to retreat. He made a not 
unskilful effort to retrieve himself. 

“ It means nothing, I know, to have you listen 
to what I say,” he went on, humbly enough ; “your 
ears can’t do me much good if your soul shuts 
me out. But, Bess, I love you so much I must 
say it, just this once. I won’t trouble you with 
it, I won’t ask for anything — don’t answer me,” 
he went on hurriedly, in growing trepidation under 
her scornful eyes. “ I just want you to know 
that I’ve loved you all my life, and I mean to 
work for you harder than ever girl was worked 
for before ; and some day you will be my 
wife ! ” 

Bess gave him a withering look. Perhaps his 
earnestness and the novelty of the situation might 
have awakened some small compassion for him 
in her hard young heart if that last masterful 
a 


82 


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declaration had not given compunction to the 
winds. She lifted herself a little on her perch to 
see more plainly the spring-house path ; then, 
putting two fingers in her mouth as Bruce him- 
self had taught her, she blew a signal whistle, 
shrill and clear. 

“Viry!” she called, «Vi-ry.'” She waved 
her handkerchief through the leaves and spoke 
to Bruce over her shoulder. 

<< She’s running like a deer,” she said calmly. 
‘‘ She’ll be here in three minutes. If you want 
to go on making a goose of yourself she might 
as well have the fun of it too, and I’ll keep her 
on that root as long as you stay here — trying to 
catch people in traps and make them listen to 
you ! ” she wound up in incoherent wrath. 

“ Bess,” he began imploringly; but she flashed 
round on him. 

<< If you speak to me again, Bruce Carleton, I’ll 
tell her every last thing you’ve said. I won’t 
stand it another minute. You know I hate 
philandering, and every kind of foolishness there 
is, and yet there you sit and gabble, you horrid, 
selfish, disagreeable boy ! — Good for you, Viry ! ” 
with a startling change of tone. “ I believe in 
my soul you can run faster than I can at last. 
Jump down, Bruce, and I’ll get down there and 
try. Wait and get your breath first, Viry. Hurry, 
Bruce ! ” 

Bruce descended, sulkily enough, and Bess 
came after him as nimbly as a young monkey. 


THE MASTER-WORD 


83 


“ What was it you wanted, Miss Bess ? ” asked 
Viry, her face alight with the joy of Bess’s praise. 

“Oh, I just wanted you to listen to one of 
Bruce’s taradiddles,” said Bess, carelessly ; “ it 
doesn’t matter, though, because I want to run 
now ; and besides, he’s in a hurry to go to his 
uncle’s. He’s going to stay there to-night, and 
as soon as we run this race we’ll go fishing. Is 
your breath all right ? One, two, three — ” they 
were off like the wind. 

Bruce stood watching them, a portentous scowl 
upon his face. The two girls ran side by side, 
neither gaining on the other, across the orchard 
and down the hill. It would be a drawn race. 
But halfway down Viry tripped and fell, and 
Bess, checking herself with amazing swiftness, 
wheeled in a short turn and dropped beside her. 
Their laughter floated up the hill, and Bruce, 
hearing it, jammed his hat upon his head and 
took the path across the flelds to his uncle’s. 


VIII 


It was while Bruce was at Columbia and Dick 
in his senior year at Vanderbilt that the great 
discovery was made which poured wealth into 
the laps of the Jeness County farmers, trans- 
formed the quiet village near Margaret’s home 
into a bustling, mushroom-like town, and thrilled 
Fulton itself with the coursing tides of a new 
commercial life. Phosphate deposits, wonder- 
fully rich, had been found a year or two before 
in Sumpter County, and had set the whole region 
wild with dreams of untold wealth. The dis- 
covery had come about almost by accident. A 
Sumpter County man, finding some black shale 
on his farm, and believing it to be coal, sent a 
specimen to Nashville for examination ; and the 
chemist pronounced a bit of rock clinging to its 
under side to be phosphate of a higher grade 
than any yet discovered in the United States. 
Men and money poured in to develop the mines, 
and all middle Tennessee was in a ferment. 
Some of the Jeness County men, smitten with 
the thirst for sudden riches, sacrificed the fertile 
lands which had long yielded such sure and 
abundant returns to purchase a share, however 
small, of this hidden, mysterious, unsuspected 
H 


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85 


wealth laid ages ago on the old sea-floor, and 
waiting, as power has always waited, until 
men should grow wise enough to find and 
use it. 

Much of the land in Jeness County was thrown 
upon the market, and Margaret, remembering 
Dick’s still steadfast determination to be a 
farmer, bought in that lying adjacent to her 
own already large holdings, until she became the 
greatest landowner in the county. Then, in 
Dick’s senior year, came the amazing discovery 
that Jeness County itself was one great bed of 
phosphate, as much richer than Sumpter phos- 
phate as Sumpter phosphate was richer than 
that of all the world. 

The wildest excitement followed. Mine after 
mine was opened. Hundreds of negro laborers, 
swelling to thousands, flocked in and were settled 
in rough camps around the different mines. The 
village, with its handful of houses and two or 
three hundred inhabitants, was deluged with 
incoming white men of every possible grade. 
Northern capitalists came down to investigate, 
and remained to make permanent investments. 
Young Southerners, eager, alert, with no capital 
beyond their brains and the will to work, sought 
an opening in this new, rich field. Storekeepers 
came, drummers, dealers in everything necessary 
and unnecessary, and sharpers and scalawags, 
ready to prey on the ignorant and weak. 

The one little hotel was taxed beyond the pos- 


86 


THE MASTER-WORD 


sibility of finding space for its customers, though 
half a dozen men slept in a room, and any num- 
ber of them in the passages. A new hotel was 
put up, pretentious brick stores and offices fol- 
lowed, and dwelling-houses of every grade. Town 
lots were sold at preposterous prices. Sometimes, 
after a house had been built, the land proved so 
rich that the lot would be stripped and mined, the 
house standing on tall pillars, like stilts, above 
the pit where men and mules were at work. 

The whole face of the earth was rent and 
changed. Men knew at last the secret of the 
inexhaustible fertility of the region, where gen- 
eration after generation had garnered the richest 
harvests from ground which needed no fertilizing. 
It was the despised “ sand-rock,” as the farmers 
called it, kicking it contemptuously or resentfully 
aside as they turned it up in the long furrows, 
which had kept the soil renewed with virgin 
strength, and which held within itself new power 
for the exhausted lands of the world. 

To Margaret, at first, the whole transformation 
came with the shock of a desecration. Driving 
one day to Fulton she saw old Mr. Lambert’s 
wheat fields, which had been the pride of the 
county for years, trampled and laid waste, the 
rich green of the growing wheat trodden into 
the mire or buried under piles of earth as the 
men stripped off the over-burden of soil from the 
beds of rock ; and the long line of carts, filled 
with the earth loosened and thrown aside by the 


THE MASTER-WORD 


87 


heavy scrapers, toiled up out of the deepening 
cuts to pour their contents on the green life of 
the fields and crush it out in darkness. On her 
way home she passed the family burying-ground 
of the Bruces, not far from the fine old house. 
Here, too, the fields were torn with ghastly 
wounds. Up to the very edge of the little fence 
which guarded the graves the mines were opened, 
and men worked with pick and shovel in the mad 
thirst for gold, as if gold were the one thing 
needful, and that quiet spot on the hillside held 
neither warning nor promise of the door which 
swings wide for all mankind, nor of the differ- 
ence between possessions and life. 

For herself, she was content with what she 
had, and was minded to give Nature her own 
way, taking the increase of her fields as God gave 
it. She did not care for great wealth for herself, 
and she feared it for the children, especially for 
Bess. The girl’s danger, she thought, was already 
great enough, in that she was a woman, and 
beautiful, and young. If in addition to all this 
she should become known as a great heiress, 
what chance of happiness would she have ? 

As her daughter grew older, Margaret had 
found it increasingly difficult to attain a point 
where she was willing for the child not merely 
to live her own life, but to bear her share of the 
suffering and discipline which life inevitably 
brings. She had long accepted her own lot as 
purely good. If her old happiness had been slain 


88 


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before her eyes, something nobler and better had 
taken its place. Her life was not what, as a 
girl, she had hoped it would be ; if the girl could 
have seen the woman’s life it would have broken 
her heart, it was so different, so changed : but 
looking back she saw that it was through the 
broken heart of the girl, and the wreck of the 
girl’s ideals, that she had to pass to reach 
the ground whereon she now stood firm. It was 
not merely that truth was better than illusion — 
she had always known that ; what she had 
learned was that whatever the guise or disguiseX 
of truth, the heart of it, for those who have \ 
courage to penetrate to its heart, is lov e and | 
cojapassion, and the power to bear and to serve.^ 
//The gift of pain she had foundT'to be tEe~true 
^ second sight, and her inner vision had cleared 
until she saw in ever}?- need a bond that united 
her to her fellows. It was one of her joys that 
she owed this life, with its constantly deepening 
insight and delight, to Philip, her husband, who 
had wronged her and been forgiven. Out of 
tl^eir life together, and their pain, had come good, 
and only good, for both of them at the last. 

But that Bess should ever learn her lessons in 
any such hard way — the mere thought of it 
made her writhe with pain. She wished passion- 
ately at times, that Bess might never marry. 

In her saner moments she knew that after all 
marriage — not an ideal marriage, but the ordi- 
nary marriage, with its admixture of good and 


THE MASTER-WORD 


89 


evil, happiness and pain — is the best of all 
possible lots ; and there were even times when, 
lifted to some mountain-top of vision, she ceased 
for the moment to be afraid. She saw, at least, 
that there was a place where one might stand 
and not be afraid, though she herself might never 
reach it ; a place where the laws of life in their 
working were laid open to the sight, forming the 
souls of men, shaping, breaking, remaking, lifting, 
lifting through the ages ; and above the laws the 
Law, infinite, all-pervading, never to be defeated 
in the end. In the light of that vision she could 
trust even Bess’s life to slip out into the current 
when the time should come, and be borne whither 
it should be carried. 

But for the most part this trust was beyond 
her ; and she wavered between a desire to see 
her, before her death, a well-established old maid, 
and a desire to see her married to some man 
whom she could trust. She realized the doubt- 
fulness of a girl’s becoming inspired with a 
romantic attachment for the man whom her 
mother’s judgment selects ; but she nevertheless 
hoped that if she kept her own judgment well in 
the background Bess might some day look upon 
Bruce Carleton with eyes of favor. She knew 
him as she knew her own children, and trusted 
his honor and steadfastness entirely. She had 
been doubly pleased when Bess shamefacedly 
told her of Bruce’s extraordinary conduct at the 
barn and in the apple tree — pleased with Bruce 


90 


THE MASTER-WORD 


for caring for her, and with Bess for laughing at 
him. Watching him since, she guessed that his 
love changed only to pass from a boy’s love into 
a man’s ; and she was in no hurry for Bess’s heart 
to awaken. One of the cardinal points of her 
creed was that it did a man no harm to wait, or 
to find his wooing difficult ; but she wished for 
his success in the end. If she grasped now at 
this sudden wealth it might endanger all her 
hopes. Bess would be set on a pinnacle — a 
pinnacle of dollars, of all things — a target for 
every fortune-hunter who heard her name, and 
might give her heart to some man who cared 
only for her money. No, she would not open 
the mines, nor sell the land. Dick cared as little 
for money as she, and Bess would be content 
with whatever they decided. They would change 
nothing ; and when Bruce and Bess were safely 
married, she would give the child her portion to 
do with as she would, while she and Dick went 
on in the old life together. 

And it was Dick, the student, the recluse, 
Dick the unworldly, the imaginative, who upset 
all these plans, and opened the great Lawton 
mines, and scarred the fields, and coined money 
in dazzling heaps. He graduated in June, and a 
week afterward, as he and his mother sat on the 
shady side of the veranda at home, she began 
to speak of his further course of study else- 
where. 

“ I only want one more year, mother,” he 


THE MASTER-WORD 


91 


said ; “ I am not going abroad at all. My life 
has been settled for me by the discovery of this 
phosphate. After my year at the North I must 
come home and open the mines.’’ 

His mother looked at him in amazement. 

“We need not open the mines, Dick,” she said. 
“ It will be impossible for you to live the life 
you have planned if you undertake so great a 
business. We can go on as if the phosphate did 
not exist. We do not need it or want it.” 

“ The world needs it,” he answered, “ and it 
belongs to the world. We have no right to with- 
hold it.” 

“We need not give it yet. I am afraid for 
Bess, when she finishes school, to enter life as a 
great heiress. Wait until Bess is married or 
decides not to marry. Then we can sell the land 
and somebody else can dig out the world’s phos- 
phate for it.” 

Dick laughed softly, and bent down to kiss 
her hand. 

“You are the most delightful mother in the 
world,” he said. “Just when a fellow concludes 
that your wisdom is infallible and begins to 
stand in awe of you, you bring out a delicious 
bit of nonsense like that! To think of your 
playing ostrich ! ” 

“ Ostrich ? ” she inquired, one pair of gray eyes 
smiling into the other. “I don’t understand, 
wise sir.” 

“Do you think Bess won’t be known as an 


92 


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heiress because you keep her fortune hid in the 
ground? Everybody in Tennessee knows of this 
great tract of land you own, and that it is the 
very centre and heart of the richest deposits of 
phosphate yet found. Why, I heard two men 
talking about it on the train the other day ; they 
knew the whole story.’’ 

« Drummers ! ” said Margaret ; “ they don’t 
count. I suppose they’d just been to Fulton.” 

“ No ; they had never been down this way 
before. They heard it in St. Louis.” 

« I never thought of that,” she said, after 
a moment’s silence. “ I don’t see how I am 
to protect the child.” 

« Her being your child is her protection,” he 
answered. « You have taught us to care for the 
real things, and to find them under outside ap- 
pearances. When I think of you, I know there’s 
no need to be afraid for Bess.” 

Margaret sighed. 

“ But for yourself, Dick ? ” she asked presently. 
« You said you hated business.” 

“ Yes. But I said if a thing I didn’t like came 
to me, I’d try not to shirk. And, mother,” he 
went on with that hesitating shyness which came 
to him when he told her his inmost thoughts, 
“ this hasn’t come to me as business, exactly. 
It is like a symphony or a great poem. When 
Bruce and I took that tramp last summer up 
through the mountains we saw those mountain 
farms ; just the poorest thin soil that ever was, 


THE MASTER-WORD 


93 


and the scantiest crops. The men are gaunt and 
bent with work, and the women and children 
are pitiful. Some of the land doesn’t yield over 
six or eight bushels of wheat to the acre. Then, 
scattered all in among those farms are some 
whose owners use phosphate ; just a worm 
fence between them, and it looked like a differ- 
ent world. The homes were different ; you could 
tell it most in the children, and in the comforts 
in the houses, and in the books. That’s what 
phosphate does. It means relief to men and 
women broken and old with work, and a better 
chance for the children ; more bread for the 
world’s markets, more cotton, more everything.” 

Margaret looked at him with kindling eyes. 

“ I don’t see why a man can’t work for things 
like that,” Dick went on. “ It makes life a lot 
more interesting. It seems to me men kill them- 
selves with narrowness when they work just for 
the personal return. The other way you have a 
background for life, and a horizon. Think of 
the background for this phosphate ; the ages of 
preparation, the forces, the laws controlling the 
forces, and the waiting since ages before man 
existed. And atoms like us can unlock the mys- 
tery and set force free to be transformed into 
life ! The long chain is broken if we step out 
of our place and shirk.” 

His face, fine and delicate, with the brow of 
a dreamer and the lips of an ascetic, shone with 
an inner light. Suddenly he blushed to his ears. 


94 


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Why should I talk to you about such 
things?” he said. ‘«You have known them all 
along. I repeat what you teach me as if I had 
found it out for myself. It is because you have 
made it so real to me, mother ; you live that 
way.” 

Margaret did not answer. Her eyes were on 
the distant hills as she drank deep the cup of 
her reward : her son had seen the vision of the 
Law, and had understood it through his mother’s 
daily life. 

Presently Dick began to speak in another 
tone. 

« There will be more than one man can possi- 
bly do, mother, and I want Bruce to help me. 
He told me this morning h^ had promised to 
work for his uncle this summer, but the arrange- 
ment is only for three months yet, and you can 
get him to come to you in the fall. He could 
begin the mining this winter while I am away. 
We must manage somehow to make Bruce’s 
fortune out of this, but he’s such a stiff-necked 
old heathen it will be right hard to do.” 

« Go over and find him, dear, and bring him 
to dinner ; we can see about it this evening. 
But, my son, do you realize that the phosphate 
is only half the problem ? There’s the money 
it will bring in to be reckoned with.” 

Dick laughed. 

« They say there’s poetry in everything if you 
can only get at the heart of it ; and there cer- 


THE MASTER-WORD 



tainly ought to be poetry in power, and that’s 
what money is. But I’ll leave that to you and 
Bess. Her head will be full of notions, and I 
expect yours is already.” 

He stooped to kiss her and went down the 
steps, across the yard, whistling light-heartedly. 
Margaret watched him until he disappeared. 
Philip had been troubled for Dick only less 
than for Viry ; Bess’s future he had apparently 
taken for granted. He would be satisfied with 
Dick ; he would say that she had done her work 
well. But Viry ? 

Since the day when Viry had stood before her 
with crimson cheeks and flaming eyes, an image 
of incarnate passion, and cried, “ I hate you ! 
I hate you ! ” the girl had held herself aloof. 
She would open her heart neither to Margaret 
nor to Dilsey ; nor would she associate with 
other negroes. She was a beautiful girl — or 
would have been but for those strange, disquiet- 
ing eyes, and for the moody, dissatisfied look 
which deepened continually upon her face. Once 
or twice Margaret, looking at her suddenly, had 
surprised Viry’s eyes fixed upon herself with an 
expression of cold contempt. She groped in 
vain in her own consciousness for any cause for 
such feeling, and she knew it was useless to try 
to fathom the reasons in the girl’s mind. So far 
she had utterly failed with Viry; and to fail 
here, she felt, was to fail in everything, for it 
was here that her life was put to its crucial test. 


96 


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Sometimes she despaired. There seemed no way 
to get at the girl, no natural emotions or long- 
ings by which to thread the labyrinth of her 
reserve. Her love for Bess, indeed, remained, 
the one living thing that stirred beneath the cold 
snows of her indifference, and on that Margaret 
fed her hope. Where love was life was ; and to 
that living germ all things were possible. 


IX 


Bruce had accepted his uncle’s offer to take 
charge of his phosphate mines for the summer 
simply to be near Bess. He had had a better 
offer to remain in New York, but the place was 
only a temporary one, so that he felt justified 
in refusing it to accept Mr. Bruce’s somewhat 
niggardly proposal. He had determined, once 
for all, that he would never again speak to 
Bess of love ; the phosphate had settled that. 
But he saw no reason why he should not see 
her as often as he could until she married, as 
she would probably do within a few years. 
After that he would go to the ends of the earth 
and stay there. 

He had always known that he must begin 
life with nothing but his brain and his two 
hands, and that Bess would inherit a comfort- 
able independence; but there was no discrep- 
ancy in their fortunes which he might not hope 
to wipe out in a few years. When the news of 
the great discovery came, all that was changed 
in a flash. The young fellow was morbidly in- 
dependent. He had not eaten for nothing, all 

these years, the bread of a cold and grudging 
H 97 


98 


THE MASTER-WORD 


charity. His mother’s last letter he knew by 
heart, and his resentment of his uncle’s angry 
contempt for her poverty-stricken independence 
was the slow growth of many years. From his 
boyhood he had determined to use the first money 
he should earn to repay the old man for every 
mouthful he had eaten under his roof. He had, 
indeed, inherited his full share of the Bruce pride 
as well as that of the Peytons, and all the cir- 
cumstances of his life had thrown undue em- 
phasis on his natural tendencies. -Bess herself, 
in her stanch approval of his attitude toward 
his uncle, had done much to confirm him in that 
attitude, not merely toward him, but toward 
all the world. To make his own way, asking 
no favors and accepting none, was the starting- 
point of his whole scheme of life ; and so the 
knowledge of Bess’s sudden riches came to him 
as a staggering blow. He knew that all the joy 
and promise of his life were bound up in her, 
but he would not be dependent on any woman’s 
bounty, and least of all on hers. At the worst, 
a man should meet a woman on equal terms ; he 
could not stoop to receive money at her hands. 
There had been no struggle in his mind in regard 
to his course of action : circumstances had set 
her beyond the pale of honorable hope, and he 
did not for a moment question what must follow. 
He took his pride quietly enough and labelled it 
with a number of fine names — honor, and love, 
and self-sacrifice — and set it up in the innermost 


THE MASTER-WORD 


99 


temple of his will, where he offered incense be- 
fore it daily. 

When Margaret sent for him he agreed at once 
to undertake the opening of her mines. Their 
only difference was on the question of payment. 
It was a big undertaking, and worth a good sal- 
ary, which he accepted ; but he refused utterly 
to accept also a commission on the rock mined, 
or to buy, as she proposed, part of her new land 
for what she had paid for it, giving his notes in 
payment. These were just ways of putting his 
hand in their pockets, he said, and he had no 
mind to rob his friends — or to accept any more 
charity, either, he added with some bitterness. 
And so she was forced to leave matters. 

He was to begin work as soon as his time 
with his uncle was out, and was to live with 
Margaret, partly to be near his work, chiefly to 
bear her company and give her protection while 
Dick and Bess were away. 

The time came for their going before they 
realized that the summer had slipped away. 
Viry went back to college first, and Bess and 
Dick left together a week later. They were in 
the highest spirits over being near one another 
all winter, and over their mother’s promise to 
come to them for Christmas instead of bringing 
them back home. 

Bruce moved over the day before they left, 
and entered on his new work the first of the 
month. Before mining could begin, the houses 


LofC. 


100 


THE MASTER-WORD 


for the negro laborers must be built, and the 
sheds for the kilns ; the simple machinery neces- 
sary must be set up, an office and shipping depot 
erected, and a branch line built from the railroad 
to the mines. The winter was consumed in 
these preparations, and the heavy rains of the 
late wet spring delayed the opening of the 
mines. 

The rock, lying in blanket form, and covered 
only by a few feet of earth, must be mined from 
the surface, the over-burden of soil being loosened 
by deep ploughs and scrapers, and carried olf in 
carts : and in heavy rains the earth not only 
becomes an unworkable mire, but the soft, porous 
rock, broken by picks and exposed to the weather, 
absorbs so much moisture that the expense of 
drying it is materially increased. It was not 
until summer was almost come that work was 
at last begun. 

Bruce had protested against Margaret’s doing 
too much for the men, or making their quarters 
too comfortable. The houses were warm and 
dry, better built than the ordinary “ shacks ” to 
be found at the mines, but that was all. 

“ These darkies aren’t like the ones you’ve 
been used to all your life. Aunt Margaret,” he 
said. “ The men like Ebeneezer are not going to 
leave their homes and rush off into the phosphate 
country to earn a dollar a day. The bulk of these 
fellows are like the bulk of the white men who 
went to the Klondyke at first, or to California ; 


THE MASTER-WORD 



they are the ones who have failed at home and 
have nothing to tie them there. Of course a 
man may fail through no fault of his own ; but 
as a rule the men who crowd into a new indus- 
try like this have some deficiency or other, and 
it isn’t often to their credit. These darkies are 
a mighty poor lot. The first thing they need 
is to be made to work, and to be allowed to 
suffer when they don’t. Don’t start them with 
any notion that you’re going to ‘ do ’ for them ; 
it will ruin them and your mines.” 

“ I know it, Bruce ; but it’s dreadfully hard to 
live up to it when I have so much and they so 
little.” 

“ Give them a chance to help themselves,” said 
Bruce. “Uncle is so set in his ways he wouldn’t 
let me try any experiments this summer, but the 
way the men are paid is all wrong. In all the 
mines they get a dollar a day, whether thej^ get 
out much rock or little. Of course if a fellow 
gets too trifling they fire him ; but the whole 
tendency is toward the level of the poorest work- 
men. I want to pay them by the ton.” 

“ Why wouldn’t your uncle allow it ? ” 

Bruce laughed. 

“ You know how uncle is. I suppose he’s the 
only unreconstructed man in this county. He 
thinks the only way to make a ‘nigger’ work 
is to drive him with a whip, and since you can’t 
do that, you can’t do anything, and must pay 
what he asks and take what work he chooses to 


102 


THE MASTER-WORD 


give you. It’s rank nonsense. I’ll give them a 
chance, and if they don’t work, they’ll go.” 

‘‘ What will you do ? ” 

Pay them by the ton. They can make fifty 
cents a day at it if they want to; but if they choose 
to work they can make two or three dollars. I’ve 
figured it all out, and the rock won’t cost a cent 
more to mine — not as much, I believe. It will 
weed out no end of idlers ; but in the long run I 
believe enough men will answer to a spur like 
that for me to fill the quarters with the kind we 
want, especially if we get a good many married 
men.” 

The mines had not been open long when Bess 
and Dick came home. Margaret had been with 
them for some time. Bess had made several 
new friends this year, partly through Dick, who 
had made a desperate effort to get out of his 
natural reserve ; and partly through Margaret’s 
visits at Christmas and in the spring, when she 
had looked up some old Northern acquaintances 
who had introduced her and Bess to a number 
of pleasant people. 

Every one whom she met was attracted to the 
girl, and two or three men had tried to make 
love to her, to their speedy and utter discom- 
fiture. She was rapidly approaching woman- 
hood, but there was a deal of the child in her 
yet : and one of its strongest tokens was a very 
stony heart, with a sovereign contempt for 
“maudlin ways,” as she still called all things 


THE MASTER-WORD 


103 


bordering on sentiment. She came back home 
as eager for the quiet and freedom of the farm 
as ever, and celebrated her return by climbing 
to her old “ roost ” in the apple tree, with Viry 
and a little bag of Parralee’s tea-cakes, as soon 
as she had watched Bruce and Dick out of sight 
across the fields. 

But climbing was one thing and sitting still 
quite another. She and Viry had seen nothing 
of the mines as yet, nor even of the spring-house 
and the fishing hole. She ran back into the 
house to beguile Aunt Dilsey into giving them a 
picnic supper under the old beech, instead of a 
formal dinner in the house, and then she and 
Viry set out upon their rounds. 

They went past the quarters first, where three 
or four chocolate-colored bits of humanity were 
contentedly making and eating mud-pies. 

« Aren’t they cunning, Viry ? ” cried Bess. “ I 
wish I’d brought my kodak — I will to-morrow. 
I wonder how many of them there are here ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Viry, disdainfully ; 
« swarms, I suppose.” 

Bess stopped suddenly without answering, as 
the sound of coughing and crying fell upon her 
ears. 

« Why, that child has the whooping-cough ! ” 
she exclaimed. “Let’s go see.” 

« How can you tell ? ” asked Viry, hanging 
back. 

“ Bless you, I’ve got two ears,” said Bess ; 


104 


THE MASTER-WORD 


“ and I saw whole regiments of them with it 
at the settlement this spring. It almost broke 
up the kindergarten for a while.” 

She stopped at the door whence the sound, 
proceeded, and saw a negro woman sitting just 
within it, holding in her arms an exhausted-look- 
ing child, little more than a skeleton. 

“ Poor little chap,” she said, bending over it ; 
“he looks pretty sick. What doctor have you 
had for him ? ” 

“ He don’ need no doctor,” said the woman, 
vastly flattered by Bess’s attention. “I done 
got er roach.” 

“ Got a what ? ” 

“ Er roach. Dar he in de bottle.” She picked 
up a small bottle with a rag stopper and shook 
it to turn the insect within. “ I done sent ter 
Fulton atter ’im. He plumb dead,” she added 
in a satisfied tone. 

“ What on earth did you want with it ? ” 
demanded Bess. 

“ Hit’s de bes’ t’ing dey is fer de ’huppin’- 
cough,” said the woman, glad to air her knowl- 
edge. “ In co’se I greases de chile’s heels wid 
taller, too ; but hit don’ do much good less’n you 
gits er roach en name hit fer de chile en put hit 
in er bottle. Ef de roach don’ die, de chile will ; 
but ef de roach die, de chile gits well. En de 
roach done dead.” 

“ I should think he would be, without air or 
water or food ! That’s no conjuring ! But the 


THE MASTER-WORD 


105 


baby’ll go too if you aren’t careful. I’m going 
to send mother down here with a doctor ; and 
next time you bottle up your roach and grease 
with tallow if you want to, but don’t forget to 
send for the doctor, too. Come on, Viry, I must 
run over and see the washer, and then we’ll go 
tell mother.” 

They went on across the fields to where the 
washer stood, a great perforated iron cylinder 
lifted high above the ground, with a stream of 
water pumped through it as it revolved. Just 
below it narrow-gauge tracks from the different 
places where mining was going on converged 
into one, which ran up on a high trestle above 
the washer. After the large pieces of rock had 
been taken from the diggings the smaller pieces, 
mingled with earth, were loaded into the trams 
and pulled by mules to the foot of the trestle, 
whence they were hauled up by a windlass and 
emptied into the washer. Here the dirt was 
carried off by the water, and the cleaned rock 
fell under one of the great sheds to be fired and 
dried. The empty cars were allowed to run 
down the trestle, drawn by their own weight. 
Bess and Viry climbed up on the trestle and 
watched them drawn up, emptied, and sent spin- 
ning down again, until Bess’s love of adventure 
got the better of her dignity. 

“ Stop a minute,” she said to the negro who 
turned the windlass. “ Come, Viry, jump in and 
we’ll ride down.” 


106 


THE MASTER-WORD 


“ She go mighty fas’, missy,” said the man, 
grinning. 

“ I know it,” said Bess, climbing in. Now 
let go.” 

They flew down the long trestle, laughing and 
gasping. The men at the foot grinned as they 
went by, spinning along the main track and 
slackening speed gradually as they approached 
one of the sheds. Just as they stopped and 
were climbing down, Bruce came out from under 
the shed. He looked thoroughly shocked. 

“What on earth are you doing, Bess?” he 
demanded. “ One of those cars jumped the 
track yesterday. What did that fool let you 
get in there for ? ” 

“ Let me ! ” laughed Bess. “ I’d like to know 
how he could have stopped me ? ” 

“Then I’ll stop you myself,” said Bruce, in- 
cautiously. “ You mustn’t ride in it again. It’s 
not only dangerous, it’s improper ; you can’t run 
about and do all sorts of madcap things as if 
you were still a child and the place were not 
full of strange negroes. You must remember 
you are nineteen years old.” 

“ Yes, grandfather,” said Bess, a flash in her 
eyes which belied the meekness of her words, 
“ and I’ll remember that that’s my mother’s 
trestle, and I’ll ride on it till she tells me not.” 

“ Well, I’ll see that she does that pretty soon,” 
he retorted. “ I can keep you from running risks 
about the mines if I am only a hired employee I ” 


THE MASTER-WORD 


107 


“ Bruce ! ” exclaimed Bess, and stopped short, 
too shocked for a moment for speech. Then 
her eyes flamed. “Bruce Carleton, I wouldn’t 
have believed it was in you to say so mean a 
thing. I think you owe every one of us an 
apology, from mother down. Come, Viry.” 
She turned her back upon him and marched 
off toward the house. 

Bruce looked after her with a dark flush 
rising under his tanned skin. It was a mean 
thing, and he was both ashamed and surprised 
that he had said it. The golden barrier between 
himself and Bess was making him suspicious and 
ill-tempered; he must set a closer watch upon 
himself. 

The two girls went back to the house, where 
Viry settled herself upon the steps of the side 
veranda to mend a rent in one of Bess’s summer 
frocks. Bess, after telling her mother of the 
sick child, strayed round the corner of the 
piazza and threw herself into a hammock near 
by. She swung to and fro in silence for a while, 
and then, with her usual sudden change of mood, 
sat up, her face full of eager interest. 

“What is it. Miss Bess?” asked Viry. 

“ Why, I have a genuine idea,” said Bess ; “ do 
make a note of it ! What’s the use of your going 
off somewhere to teach when you finish college 
when there’s a whole regiment of children right 
down there in the quarters? I’m going to ask 
mother to put up a little schoolhouse out here. 


THE MASTER-WORD 


(108 

and you won’t have any school superintendent 
or trustees to bother with, but just me ! And 
Saturdays we’ll have a sewing-school, and I’ll 
help you teach them to sew. I just love little 
darkies ; they’re so cunning.” 

« Do you think so ? ” asked Viry. « I despise 
them.” 

Her face clouded, but only for a moment. 
Nothing could quite obscure the fact that Bess 
was planning for her, and wanted to keep her at 
home. 

“You wouldn’t despise them if you’d seen 
some of the other kinds,” said Bess, with con- 
viction ; “ some of those Eye-talians, as the old 
apple-woman on the settlement corner called 
them, or the little Jews in New York, for 
instance. I don’t mean they aren’t interesting, 
and pretty, too, after they learn to wash; but 
they do look so weazened and old and unchild- 
like, they break your heart. The colored chil- 
dren take life easy and have a good time, like 
kittens or puppies, as children should. They 
look so good-natured and contented.” 

“ Kittens and puppies ! ” said Viry, scornfully. 
“ That’s all they are. What’s the sense of teach- 
ing them anything ? ” 

“ Why, Viry,” said Bess, in astonishment, “ I 
thought you wanted to teach.” 

“ I don’t want to starve,” said Viry, shortly. 

^ “ The money my father gave me was only enough 
to educate me. I don’t suppose it would have 


THE MASTER-WORD 109 

given me the kind of education I have if Miss 
Margaret hadn’t pieced it out — at least I think 
she did it. He was a fine gentleman, and I sup- 
pose he sent his white children to college, if he 
had any, but he meant me to learn to cook and 
sew. I should be thankful that he did anything 
for me, I suppose. I’m just a ‘nigger,’ you know.” 

“Don’t, Viry,” said Bess, helplessly. “I don’t 
think about you that way. You’re different.” 

“ I know I’m different,” she replied slowly ; 
“ that’s the dreadful part. I’m — ” she shut 
her lips resolutely. She had never spoken of 
these things to Bess before, and to do so seemed 
to widen the gulf between them. She sat in 
silence, pressing her hands together under the 
white dress in her lap. 

“Did you know your father, Viry?” asked 
Bess, presently. “ Was he good to you ? ” 

“If he had been good to me, I would never 
have been born,” she answered. “ I don’t know 
anything about him except that my mother told 
the woman she left me with that he was a fine 
gentleman. He was a devil ! ” she exclaimed 
with sudden passion. “ Why couldn’t he think 
what life would mean to me before he cursed 
me with it? What right — ” she checked her- 
self again. 

“ He must have thought afterwards, and been 
sorry, Viry,” said Bess, gently. “ I am sure he 
was sorry, and he meant to help you the best he 
knew how. That must have been why he gave 


no 


THE MASTER-WORD 


you the money. Does it seem quite so hard to 
you if he were sorry ? ” 

For answer Viry burst into tears. 

“ Miss Bess, I ought to be glad I’m alive just 
to know you,” she sobbed. « It’s the only thing 
I am glad for.” 

She sprang up, her work over her arm, and 
started into the house, trying, as she went, to still 
the quivering of her lips. Bess rose to follow 
her, but she shook her head. 

« Don’t,” she implored. « Let me go.” 

Bess sank back into the hammock, shivering 
in the warm June afternoon. She felt as if a 
chasm cleft to the lowest pit yawned suddenly 
beneath her. Her own happiness seemed mon- 
strous ; she felt ashamed of the very richness of 
her life, its love, its freedom, its radiant promise. 
How could she, who had everything, comfort 
Viry, who had nothing? It had been brutal 
even to try. She lay in helpless misery until 
she felt tears dripping from her eyes, a conscious- 
ness that sent her flying to her room lest her 
weakness should be discovered. 

Perhaps her tears for Viry softened her heart 
toward Bruce. When they went to supper under 
the beech he found her in the rarest of all her 
moods, as gentle as she was beautiful. He felt 
an added need for keeping a Arm grip on him- 
self, and was so occupied in doing it that to her 
he seemed cold and unfriendly. She was in the 
humor for any amount of penitence. She had 


THE MASTER-WORD 


111 


made Bruce feel that she intended to twit him 
with his poverty — Bruce, of all people ! She 
was half ready to cry again at the thought. 
When, as soon as the meal was over, he an- 
nounced that he must go to the office for some- 
thing he had forgotten, she sprang to her feet 
and asked him to take her with him. 

“ Why, of course,” he said, his heart giving a 
sudden thump as he looked at her, standing in 
her white dress in the evening light, with that 
new softness on her lovely face. Then recover- 
ing himself, he turned to Margaret. 

“ Won’t you and Dick come too. Aunt Margaret? 
It’s a beautiful evening for a walk.” 

Margaret shook her head. 

“ Dick can go,” she said, “ but you must leave 
me at the house. I’m too old to get over my long 
journey so soon.” 

At the house Dick seated her on the porch and 
dropped on the step at her feet. 

“ You two go on,” he said to Bess ; “ I’d rather 
stay here.” 

“ Now they’ll sit there and make love to each 
other till we come back,” laughed Bess, running 
down the steps again. “ What do you suppose 
will happen, Bruce, when Dick falls in love with 
some girl ? ” 

« Why, he’ll be in love, I suppose,” said Bruce, 
absently, his eyes turned resolutely toward the 
fields. 

Of course he’ll be in love, goose ; I told you 


112 


THE MASTER-WORD 


that much, myself.” Then, remembering her rea- 
son for coming with him, she plunged into her 
apology before her good resolution should have 
time to cool. 

“ I’m sorry I was so cross this afternoon, 
Bruce ; but indeed I seemed crosser than I was, 
or you never would have misunderstood me so. 
I know I have lots of faults, and I do dearly 
love to tease and nag, but I wouldn’t think what 
you thought I did — I’d rather be dead. I must 
be a meaner girl than I ever suspected, or you 
wouldn’t have thought for one minute I could be 
so hateful.” 

She stopped, breathless and rosy red, her eyes, 
shamed and penitent, on his face. There were 
never any half measures with Bess ; she might 
not often think herself in fault, but when she 
did, she was the chief of sinners. 

Bruce had never felt her so beautiful or so 
dangerous. He permitted himself barely a 
glance in her direction. 

“I ought to apologize myself,” he said con- 
strainedly. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. 
I forgot myself — and my position. I was — 
things had been going wrong, and I took it out 
on the first annoyance that came along. There 
isn’t any excuse.” 

He stood in awkward silence, with a miserable 
sense of clumsiness, and of having saved his honor 
at the expense of Bess’s good opinion. 

Bess stiffened. 


THE MASTER-WORD 


113 


« I am sorry to have been the annoyance,” she 
said quietly ; “ but since you understand that I 
intended no offence, we need not worry about it 
any more. Good-night.” 

She was back through the gate before he 
could move to open it for her, and he stood look- 
ing after her as wretched as a young man in 
love can well be. If she had quarrelled with 
him, after her usual fashion, it would have been 
an untold comfort. For her to treat him, in 
the face of such provocation, with dignity and 
grave politeness marked a relation between them 
as distant as it was new. He walked slowly on 
with a dawning consciousness of what it would 
mean to make good, hour by hour, in his daily 
life, the act of will by which he had long ago 
renounced his hopes. He had thought of that 
determination as a sacrifice of the greatest cost ; 
he began to see how cheap and easy it was com- 
pared to the finished sacrifice wrought out in 
deeds through a lifetime. 

Bess did not go back to the porch, but seated 
herself in the lawn-swing at the side of the house. 
She was surprised and indignant to find herself 
more hurt than angry. Bruce had seemed 
changed last summer, but she had scouted the 
thought as treason ; now she knew it was true — 
he was changed. Perhaps — her cheeks burned 
at the thought — perhaps he was afraid she 
remembered his nonsense in the barn that day, 
and feared that she might think him still in that 


114 


THE MASTER-WORD 


silly frame of mind. Her eyes blazed. She 
would show him that at least she was not a fool 
who thought every man she came across was in 
love with her. She would never annoy him with 
her attentions again ! 

She kept her word, and in the keeping of it 
proved herself no longer a child, but a woman. 
Her manner to Bruce was so easy, friendly, and 
unembarrassed that Margaret never suspected 
the change which the young man for whom it 
was made daily felt more keenly. Like every- 
thing else which she undertook Bess practised 
the art of avoidance with signal success, and 
achieved that height of diplomacy where no di- 
plomacy appears to exist. Try as he might, Bruce 
found no opening through which to reach her, 
and did not see her alone again before she went 
back to college. 

Her last two years at school passed rapidly. 
To Bruce they brought a treadmill round of 
work which grew more and more irksome to 
him as his inward chafing against his fate 
centred his thoughts more and more upon him- 
self, and cut his work off from its world-wide 
relationships to cramp it within the narrow 
limits of his own lot in life. Unconsciously the 
values of life were changing with him. He 
envied Dick the wealth he was so heedless of, 
and raged against his own poverty. The harder 
he worked the higher the barrier rose between 
him and his love ; that his hands should be set 


THE MASTER-WORD 


115 


to build it seemed the irony of fate. He hated 
money with increasing bitterness, and longed for 
it with all his soul. Like every man absorbed in 
his own affairs, he hardened toward those about 
him. That he was the best manager of a phos- 
phate mine in the county every one admitted ; 
no mines were so economically run, none paid 
such wages, none had such workmen, none 
poured such streams of gold into their owner’s 
lap ; every edge cut and every lick told. But he 
had lost something of his old charm, even to his 
friends ; and the negroes who worked for him, 
while they learned to rest secure in his justice, 
served him far more in fear than in love. For 
this very reason, perhaps, they worked for him 
as they would never have worked for Dick, and 
treasured his rare praise with pride. 

Dick, for his part, was finding new interest in 
his work with every day. He left the mines to 
Bruce, but the connection of the mines with the 
outside world was under his own control, and as 
it broadened his interest in it broadened, and 
poetry was still at the heart of life. Nothing 
was lacking to him but that Bess should be at 
home again to stay, and in one more year that 
too would come to pass. She had finished col- 
lege, but Margaret had promised to take her 
abroad for a year, and in August they were to sail. 

Margaret had delayed their departure that she 
might see the completion of the schoolhouse 
which had been built for Viry, and make sure that 


116 


THE MASTEB-WORD 


everything w^as ready for her to begin her work 
in the fall. Aunt Dilsey was to be left as house- 
keeper, with Viry to give her whatever help she 
might need. To Aunt Dilsey, also, Margaret com- 
mitted her own work of looking after such of the 
sick among the negroes in the quarters as needed 
especial attention, whom Bruce was to report to 
her as he had always done to Margaret herself. 

Bess had come home after commencement feel- 
ing that if Bruce had been elsewhere she would 
have found it a relief ; for the longer she pursued 
her policy of friendly indifference the more diffi- 
cult it became. Bruce, however, had long since 
fallen in with it, and rarely sought to be alone 
with her, or to attract her notice in any way. To 
her shame and scorn she found it impossible to 
care as little for him as he apparently did for her. 
If he had remained unchanged, her fancy might 
have strayed to some one of the men, younger or 
older, who surrounded her with admiration ; but 
the mere fact that this one man, formerly her 
slave, was entirely indifferent to her, set him apart 
from, and, by the usual feminine reasoning, above 
the others. Devoted, he had floated in and out 
of her consciousness as idly as seaweed floats on 
the shore ; but indifferent, she thought of him 
much. Part of her overflowing delight in her 
prospective trip was her expectation that it 
would drive him quite out of her mind ; before 
she came back, he would, she was sure, be as 
little to her as she was now to him, 


X 


To her work as a teacher Viry brought intelli- 
gence of a high order, an education far beyond 
that of the ordinary white teacher in the country 
schools, and an utter lack of enthusiasm which 
foredoomed her to failure from the start. She 
did not intend to fail or shirk ; she was as de- 
termined as Bruce himself to give money’s worth 
in return for her salary, no matter how distaste- 
ful the giving of it might be ; and as a matter of 
fact, the learning of books progressed as well in 
the school at the quarters as in most schools of 
a like kind. A certain round of work was faith- 
fully gone through, a certain amount of drudgery 
required and performed ; but at first there had 
been hope of something more. The dusky little 
pupils had long viewed Viry from afar with ad- 
miration and awe. Her beauty, her daint}^ dress, 
the reputation of her learning and her haughti- 
ness, coupled with the amazing fact that she 
« wuz des a nigger, too,” had made her in their 
eyes a creature of romance ; and when it was 
announced that this goddess would so far de- 
scend from her pinnacle as to open a school for 
their benefit, a school where they could see and 
hear her, and perhaps touch her pretty clothes 

(jy 


THE MASTER-WORD 


% 

every day, they were thrown into great excite- 
ment, which communicated itself, more or less, 
to their mothers. Dresses were washed, rents 
mended or pinned up, a grand rewrapping of 
woolly pigtails took place ; and the opening day 
saw the schoolroom filled with squirming, rest- 
less little creatures, the whites of their eager 
eyes shining in their black faces, their teeth 
gleaming through embarrassed smiles, as they 
looked at ‘‘Miss Viry” expectantly. 

Viry stood on the platform behind her desk, 
clad in the simplest of dark skirts and white 
shirt-waists, but with the carriage and style of 
the high-born women whose blood flowed in her 
veins. Her beautiful hair rippled about her low, 
broad forehead, and covered the tips of her little 
ears; her lips were held in calm, determined 
lines, and the pallor of her olive skin was more 
pronounced than usual. Her strange blue eyes 
looked at the children with an unflinching, un- 
smiling expression, before which their own smiles 
faded, and their eyes dropped uneasily. She 
went through with the day’s routine with a cold, 
determined patience which sent the children 
home chilled and vaguely resentful. None of 
them had dared to touch her. 

For herself, she had gone back to her pretty 
room in Aunt Dilsey’s cabin and thrown herself 
upon the bed in sheer physical exhaustion after 
the day’s self-control. In her years as a student 
she had taken refuge from her fellow-pupils in 


THE MASTER-WORD 


119 


her books, and in a more or less limited associa- 
tion with her white teachers ; and always, when 
she thought of the end of her own school days, 
the main thing had been the hope of being near 
Bess again. The time she must spend away from 
her and at work, she had, as far as possible, 
dropped out of her mind : sufficient unto the day 
would be the evil thereof ; it was only hope 
which had looked into the future, searching for 
something wherewith to make the present more 
endurable. 

But now Bess was gone for a whole long year, 
and Viry’s life-work had begun. The interest of 
learning was cut olf — for it never occurred to 
her that in the hearts and minds of these little 
black folk might be hidden a kind of knowledge 
new to her, and as interesting in its way as what 
she had found in books : she was separated from 
all her mental equals : there was no one near her 
for whom she cared at all except old Dilsey, 
whom she regarded much as Bess did, but to 
whom, notwithstanding her real affection for 
her, she could never speak freely of either her 
thoughts or her emotions : she was shut up to a 
lifelong association with unkempt negro children. 

She might have borne that, she felt, if it had 
come to her of her own free choice. She had 
been quick to see and to appreciate the unselfish 
devotion which had moved her white teachers to 
spend themselves for an alien and inferior race : 
she could have done that, too. But to her, she 


120 


THE MASTER-WORD 


thought bitterly, even the comfort of sacrifice 
was denied. She was to spend herself, not be- 
cause a higher nature freely bent to the burdens 
and ignorance of a lower one, but because, being 
a negro, she belonged with negroes, and earned 
her bread among her kind as a matter of course. 
And yet she was white, she was white ! She 
clenched her hands with a tearless groan. Why 
had this curse come upon her? It did not fall 
on every mongrel, she told herself once more, in 
voiceless misery. There had been mulatto girls 
at school — plenty of them ; but they were not 
like her. The sight of them had always sent a 
sick chill to her heart, as it might to a cripple’s 
heart to see another deformity like his own ; but 
she had nerved herself, again and again, to speak 
to one and another of them of these awful things, 
and they had scarcely understood her at all. They 
were proud of their white blood, many of them, 
and of the superior intelligence with which it had 
dowered them. They were more or less contemp- 
tuous of their black associates, but after all it was 
a kindly, tolerant contempt ; and so long as they 
were allowed to lead they did not object to a 
black following. They had the white blood, but 
it merely served to quicken the black nature ; 
while for her the black blood had poisoned a 
white woman’s life. 

She had not understood it as a child. She had 
puzzled, herself, over her anger at the attempts 
at intimacy of her colored playmates. She had 


THE MASTER-WORD 


121 


wondered why Mrs. Lawton could be so friendly 
with people, the mere sight of whom made her 
bristle with antipathy. But slowly, with years 
of silent pondering and suffering, the dreadful 
truth had been made clear. They knew Mrs. 
Lawton was white : she knew it : and she could 
afford from her height to stoop to the lowly 
friends who looked up to her in admiration, and 
who would never dream of themselves crossing 
the line which her condescension might overstep. 
But if they had not understood that she was 
white ! If they had treated her as an equal ; if 
their women had dared to caress her, or their 
men to look admiration — Viry set her teeth 
with a quick intaking of her breath. Oh, she 
loathed them, she loathed them ! And this grand 
lady, with her beauty, her gentle ways, her easy 
willingness not to assert her superiority, her 
apparent indifference to her praises in all men’s 
mouths — she hated her, too. It was easy enough 
for her to visit the depths occasionally, in the 
most beautiful and becoming raiment, and to 
dispense here and there a drop of her surfeit 
of ease and comfort, that all that dark under- 
world might chant her praises and adore ! It was 
easy enough, apparently, from her rose-crowned 
heights, to calmly thrust another, her fellow in 
blood and brain, into that black pit of misery, 
and complacently expect her to be happy there 
and to give thanks for her pleasant lot. The 
hypocrisy of it, the sheer brute callousness of 


122 


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this modern saint ! Viry writhed noiselessly 
upon her bed. Then all her muscles stiffened 
as she heard Aunt Dilsey’s step on the porch 
and her knock at the door, followed by the 
turning of the knob. She relaxed herself by 
an effort of will. 

“ Come in, Aunt Dilsey ! ” she called, in a 
quiet, natural voice. 

“ Is you in yere, honey ? ” asked the old 
woman, stepping inside. “I been lookin’ fer 
you ter come home, en I ’lowed some er dem 
little varmints mought er had ter be kep’ in. 
Yere’s yo’ lunch ; eve’ybody’s done in de house.” 

“You oughtn’t to spoil me so. Aunt Dilsey ; 
I could have gone in the house.” 

“ I ain’t got nobody else ter sp’ile,” said Aunt 
Dilsey, with affected indifference ; “ Dick done 
got too big, en Bess she’s gone. I been sp’ilin’ 
somebody too long ter quit. Set down en eat, 
chile. How you come on wid dem quarters 
chillun ? ” 

“ Oh, pretty well. They’re stupid, but I sup- 
pose they’ll learn.” 

“Dey needs raisin’,” said Aunt Dilsey, with 
conviction. “Dey needs hit a heap wuss dan 
dey needs goin’ ter school. Ef Miss Marg’ret 
could des see hit daterway, I could go down 
dar eve’y mawnin’ wid er swi’ch en set dem 
chillun en dey mammies ter washin’ deyse’f en 
cleanin’ up dey house en min’in’ dey manners 
ter de w’ite folks, en hit ’ud do a heap mo’ good 


THE MASTER-WORD 


123 


dan dish yere lit’le school w’at you’s gwine ter 
keep.” 

But, Aunt Dilsey, you didn’t mind my being 
educated.” 

“I dunno whe’er I minds hit or not; I ain’t 
foun’ out yit. Hit don’ ’pear ter hurt Eb’neezer, 
ner Jane,” she added grudgingly ; “but den dey 
wuz brought up by de w’ite folks. I dunno 
w’at hit gwine do ter Eb’neezer’s chillun ; June 
look mighty biggety ter me las’ time I see ’im. 
I don’t want you takin’ up wid June, Elviry. He 
wuz hangin’ ’roun’ yere mightily, ’peared ter me.” 

Viry’s eyes flashed. 

“ He won’t hang any more,” she said briefly. 

“Well,” began Aunt Dilsey — “W’at you 
want, Marse Bruce ? ” she broke off, rising and 
opening the door as she saw Bruce at the porch 
outside. 

“I sent one of the hands home with fever just 
now. Aunt Dilsey, and I had to come to the 
house for something, so I stopped by to tell you. 
He’s down in the last of that new row of cabins 
— Jake Mason. Send him some soup or milk 
or something for supper, and look after him till 
he gets well. I telephoned for Tyree ; he’ll keep 
you posted about what he ought to eat. How 
did the school go, Viry ? ” 

“ As well as I expected,” she answered indif- 
ferently. 

“ It’ll never go any better than you expect,” 
said Bruce, with some sharpness ; “ you can bank 


124 


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on that, so just make up your mind to have it a 
success. Aunt Margaret has set her heart on it 
— and Miss Bess, too,” he added, as Viry’s face 
showed no response to his words. “ By the 
way, here’s a letter from Aunt Margaret for you. 
Aunt Dilsey, and one for Viry from Miss Bess.” 
He smiled involuntarily at the transformation in 
Viry’s face, as she sprang to her feet and reached 
out her hand, answering his smile with a flash- 
ing radiance. He gave her the letters and went 
out through the side gate to the mines. 

A couple of hours later the tall form of John- 
son Tyree, the negro doctor, mounted the steps 
of the cabin. Aunt Dilsey had gone to the house 
to superintend the preparations for dinner, so he 
left his directions for the sick man’s diet with 
Viry. He had been born and brought up on a 
neighboring plantation, and had known the Law- 
ton people, white and black, as a boy ; but at 
flfteen he left home to seek an education in Nash- 
ville. He was over thirty now, and had lived in 
the village for several years, practising medicine. 
Bruce had known him as a boy, and finding 
him modest and capable as a man had been glad 
to give him the practice among the negroes at 
the Lawton mines ; but though he had been 
coming and going there almost since their open- 
ing, he had seen Viry only from afar and at the 
rarest intervals during her summer vacations. 
When Margaret was at home he always made 
his reports to her at the house. 


THE MASTER-WORD 


125 


As the fall wore to winter Viry met him more 
and more. Aunt Dilsey’s rheumatism and other 
“ miseries ” increased upon her rapidly with the 
cold weather, and Viry saw that she was break- 
ing fast. She clung tenaciously to the oversight 
of the pantry and kitchen, which she felt to be 
the most important part of the trust which her 
mistress had committed to her, but other things 
she gave into Viry’s hands. Viry took charge of 
the sick, attended to the preparation of their 
food under the doctor’s orders, and made reports 
to Bruce when he passed the cabin porch in the 
evening. She looked after the flowers in the 
greenhouse and took charge of the house itself, 
which she kept supplied, as Margaret had done, 
with blossoms and flowering plants. As the 
winter passed she grew more contented, or at 
least less miserable, in her work. The children 
had learned to keep their distance and to obey, 
and she never missed the absent smiles. Look- 
ing after the sick merely involved, as with Mar- 
garet, the seeing that their wants were supplied 
by others, and she had no objection to going in 
and out of the cabins in the role of an unap- 
proachable benefactress. It was only when 
some familiarity such as vrould not have been 
offered to Mrs. Lawton suggested to her the ne- 
groes’ consciousness of her oneness with them 
that her disgust or wrath flamed out, and left 
them sullen and scowling, but cowed. With the 
doctor she had no trouble. He was a silent 


126 


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fellow, intent upon his work, and seemed to 
notice her only as his work demanded. Viry 
felt that his manner to her was much as it 
would have been to Mrs. Lawton, and clothed 
him with the distinction of being the one negro 
who had sense enough to understand the gulf 
which lay between them. 

Companionship she had none. She would 
not go near the negro churches, and while she 
would have been admitted to the gallery of any 
of the white churches, she would not go as an 
inferior. To the negro servants about the place 
she spoke only when necessary ; and the unmar- 
ried men at the quarters who ventured upon the 
familiarity of a call never repeated the experi- 
ment. Aunt Dilsey watched her, puzzled and 
troubled, as she had been for years ; but the 
more she saw of the doctor the more satisfied 
she became that this was what “ de chile ” had 
been waiting for — some one as well educated as 
herself, as successful and “ up-stan’in’,” as she 
expressed it. The old woman knew that her 
days were numbered, and longed to see the girl 
married and settled before she died. She re- 
garded the doctor as an answer to prayer, and 
took great comfort in him, though she knew 
better than to hint her hopes to Viry. Indeed, 
Tyree showed no symptoms of the malady to 
which she felt him foreordained to succumb ; 
but that did not disturb her. 

“ He better go slow wid Viry ef ’e wan’ ter 


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127 


ketch ’er,” she thought. “ De Lawd know hit’s 
gwine ter be a wuss job dan sprinklin’ salt on a 
bird’s tail. But de man ain’t blin’, ner ’e ain’t no 
fool ; he bleeged ter want ’er, en ef ’e have good 
sense, en de Lawd answer pra’r — w’ich I know 
he do — he gwine git ’er atter ’while.” So she 
went her way in peace, never dreaming that 
Viry was learning to listen for another step and 
to tremble with joy in another presence. 

To Viry it was as natural as the sunlight, as 
it had been as slow and imperceptible as the 
dawn. Dick she never saw, except at a dis- 
tance. When he was not in Bruce’s office he 
was in his own den in the house which Viry 
never entered, even with flowers, since the day 
after Margaret’s departure, when he had told her 
in his gentle, impersonal manner, not to dis- 
turb the blossoms she had come to replace, and 
had added kindly that he want^ed no flowers in 
his room which were not of his mother’s arrang- 
ing. But with Bruce it was quite different. 
Bruce overlooked everything — the school, the 
gardens, the sick in the quarters. Viry, as Aunt 
Dilsey’s representative, reported one thing or 
another to him every day, or received his brief 
directions as he passed and repassed the cabin 
on his way to and from his work. He would 
stop only for the moment, hurried and preoccu- 
pied ; but he was the only one of all her dear 
child-world to whom she could ever speak. 
Sometimes he paused long enough to give her 


128 


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a word of Bess, or to hand her a letter for Aunt 
Dilsey or herself. She prompted Aunt Dilsey to 
ask him for such parts of his own or Dick’s let- 
ters as they might be allowed to see, and he 
gave them to the old woman generously. Viry 
read them aloud to her and devoured them in 
secret afterward for herself, handing them back 
to him, when he stopped at the porch, with a 
brief word of thanks. 

Bruce was desperately lonely and heart-sick 
that winter, and his contact with Viry, casual 
as it was, impressed him anew with her devotion 
to Bess, and gave him a more tolerant feeling for 
her than he had ever known. Even her eyes 
were almost endurable when they shone with 
such love for Bess ; it was a comfort, though of a 
poor and shadowy kind, to see any lips smile 
and cheeks flush at the name of the woman whom 
he loved with the whole force of his strong and 
stubborn nature. He did not dare to talk of 
her much to Dick, lest he should betray himself ; 
but Viry was so utterly out of his world that he 
had no thought, in his brief speech with her, of 
betraying himself to her ; and it did give him 
some vague comfort to know that even so lowly 
a heart as hers felt something of his own des- 
perate longing and loyalty. His manner to her 
grew more kindly as the months went by ; occa- 
sionally he paused for a moment longer than 
necessary at the door ; and once or twice when, 
returning to the house at unexpected hours, he 


THE MASTERr-WORD 


129 


found her busy in the dear old rooms, every corner 
of which was filled for him with the fragrance 
of Bess’s presence, he had stopped to chat with 
her for a few moments about some of the memo- 
ries which every object in the house called up. 

Viry had never for a moment been deceived as 
to his attitude toward her. She had been keenly 
conscious of his old antagonism, and had re- 
sented it with all her heart. It had only been 
during this last winter that her own dislike of 
him had melted away in the sunshine of his 
kindness about Bess. She knew that his only 
attraction to her — in fact, his only conscious- 
ness of her as a person rather than as part of the 
machinery of the place — was her love for the 
woman to whom he had given his heart. For 
a long time she was quite unconscious that the 
eagerness with which she listened for his coming 
was anything more than eagerness for news of 
the girl she loved so much ; and when she grad- 
ually awoke to the fact that beyond the message 
she longed for the coming of the messenger, she 
was not at first greatly disquieted. A man’s 
love may make him restless, but a woman can 
be long content with mere giving. Viry’s love 
was humble and unexpectant enough ; so that 
for a while she was quite happy, in love with 
love itself. 


XI 


Bruce, meanwhile, was having his own diffi- 
culties, both within and without. He had never 
wavered in his determination not to speak to 
Bess of his love for her until he should have 
made himself independent of her fortune ; but the 
longer he thought of her the more impossible 
seemed any scheme of life which did not include 
her constant presence. Both his fears and his 
resolutions were quickened by the arrival in the 
phosphate field, just before Christmas, of one 
Walter Hayne, who came from New York as 
the representative of a Northern company which 
had bought a large tract of land near Fulton and 
proposed to begin mining at once. Hayne was 
himself a large shareholder in the company, and 
would remain at the mines as manager. He was 
something over thirty years of age, travelled, 
well-read, fond of music and art, and a man of 
very considerable wealth. All these facts Bruce 
gathered from Dick, together with the further 
information that he and Bess had met Hayne 
during the Christmas holidays of the year when 
they were North together and were visiting in 
New York with their mother. Dick added that 
he and Bess had been excellent friends ever since ; 

130 


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131 


and Bruce divined that at least some of the many 
boxes of flowers which she had received while at 
home could be set down to Mr. Hayne’s credit. 
He himself had seen so little of Bess in the last 
two years, and she had said so little before him 
in regard to her own affairs, that he was quite in 
the dark as to the real significance, or lack of 
significance, in the coming of this city-bred man 
to bury himself in an unfamiliar country, amid 
presumably uncongenial surroundings. The de- 
sire for money could scarcely explain it, for he 
had already more than enough to live in any 
way he might choose ; and Bruce satisfied him- 
self that he could have come for no reason but 
that it was Bess Lawton’s home. He took a 
careful inventory of Mr. Hayne’s attractions, and 
groaned in secret over the list. The fellow was 
undeniably good-looking, after his well-dressed, 
citified fashion; he was evidently a gentleman, 
intelligent, well-informed, and rich enough to 
meet Bess on her own level. 

Bruce counted his own savings carefully. He 
had already decided to seek his fortune in some 
new mining country, the newer the better. He 
hoped either to discover a mine for himself or to 
find some man who had discovered one, but who 
lacked money to develop it, and who would be 
glad to take him into partnership. To this end 
he had saved, even to pinching ; he had also con- 
trived to make some money outside of his salary, 
and in another year he would be ready to start. 


132 


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He knew there were places where a few thousand 
dollars were all that stood between poverty and 
fortune. Some such place he meant to find ; 
and when his contract with Mrs. Lawton, which 
held him until the January which would follow 
her return, should expire, he would be ready for 
the venture. He would rather have waited an- 
other year, but he dared not waste any time. 
With Bess’s return in the fall suitors would cer- 
tainly gather about her, and every day would be 
fraught with danger. He said nothing to Dick 
of his intention, but went on with his work, try- 
ing to reduce every detail to such perfect sys- 
tem that his absence would be felt as little as 
possible. 

For nearly two years now he had had growing 
trouble with the county authorities. In the 
great influx of men of both races and of all 
characters which had followed the discovery of 
phosphate in the county there had been a due 
proportion of unscrupulous whites, men without 
the money for honest investment or the will for 
honest work, who watched their chance to prey 
on the community. The old inhabitants had 
become too absorbed in developing their newly 
discovered wealth to pay much attention to the 
local government, which had always wagged on 
in a perfectly sober and respectable fashion, with- 
out particular attention from anybody. When 
the last local elections had taken place the 
natives of Jeness County, including the former 


THE MASTER-WORD 


133 


office-holders, were indifferent to the whole ques- 
tion ; and it was not difficult for a knot of the 
newcomers to carry out their well-prepared plans 
and to secure the vacant offices by means of fair 
speech, pleasant m^-nners, and liberal donations 
of whiskey to the thousands of negro voters in 
the camps. 

The election had taken place in November, two 
years ago, and trouble had begun at once. The 
negroes were paid off on alternate Saturdays, 
and a large proportion of them spent their time 
until Monday morning in « shooting craps ” so 
long as their money lasted, and in looking on at 
the play of their more fortunate neighbors when 
their own part in the performance had been 
brought to a halt. On the alternate moneyless 
Sundays they went to church, where they heard 
sound doctrine and good advice from both the 
Baptist and Methodist colored pastors, and where 
they threw back their heads and sang lustily : — 

“ I tells you once, I tells you twice, 

Dey’s niggers in hell fer shootin’ dice ! 

But the next pay-night they were sure to risk 
both their hard-earned money and their chances 
of hell in their favorite method of gambling. 

The laws against gambling were very strict, 
as were those against the selling of whiskey, 
Jeness being a prohibition county. There was 
no trouble, however, in procuring whiskey in the 
village, now incorporated as a city under its own 


THE MASTER-WORD 


134 :^ 

laws ; and on Saturday afternoons certain mem- 
bers of each camp were usually detailed to go to 
town with jugs for the common benefit. Around 
these central attractions knots of negroes gathered 
in various cabins, their two weeks’ wages in their 
ragged pockets. The window's would be dark- 
ened, the keyhole covered, and the entertainment 
would begin in profound silence; a passer-by 
could note nothing amiss. But it is not in negro 
nature to keep silence long, and they would soon 
proclaim themselves by shouts, guffaws of laugh- 
ter, and sometimes by curses, blows, and even 
by pistol-shots. At such times it was a simple 
matter for the new sheriff and his aides, making 
the rounds of the various camps, to discover the 
groups of law-breakers and make a raid on them. 
If caught before any of the winners had time to 
conceal their gains, there was usually enough 
money in the crowd to satisfy their captors, who 
would, without any arrest, or the barest form of 
trial, pocket the cash available, and go their ways, 
leaving the negroes to face as best they could the 
two penniless weeks to come. If for any reason 
the haul proved unprofitable, the negroes were 
carried to jail, and notice served on the com- 
panies for which they worked that they were 
held for the payment of the legal fine. This 
would be advanced by the company and deducted 
from the men’s wages next pay-day. 

Bruce had paid fines for his men a number of 
times without giving it any more attention than 


THE MASTER-WORD 


135 


was involved in administering a sharp reproof to 
the culprits ; and it was from Tyree that he 
learned of what the sheriff considered the suc- 
cessful raids, of which he had before been in 
ignorance. He was thoroughly angry, and warned 
the officers that if they dared to repeat the offence, 
he would prosecute them to the full extent of the 
law. They met this by a counter-threat to the 
next gang of men raided at the Lawton mines to 
double their fines next time, if Carleton heard of 
the raid. The summer was well advanced before 
Bruce found them out, and he then proceeded to 
secure their legal conviction. He secured his 
witnesses and entered suit against the sheriff and 
the two constables against whom his men were 
prepared to testify, and thought the matter prac- 
tically settled ; but the cases were postponed on 
some flimsy pretext at the next term of the court, 
and continued to be postponed, on one pretext or 
another, for the following twelve months, while 
his witnesses disappeared, leaving his employ 
one after another, sometimes with no notice of 
their flitting, sometimes with the brief statement 
that they had been offered better wages “ som’ers 
else.” 

Seeing how matters were going, Bruce turned 
his attention to the election now again approach- 
ing. The first person to whom he spoke was his 
uncle. 

“ Bruce, you’re a fool,” said that gentleman, 
brusquely. “ Do you suppose decent people can 


136 


THE MASTER-WORD 


do anything when there’s this horde of black 
voters to deal with ? Deal with, indeed! I don’t 
intend to have anything to do with them myself, 
even to fight them. If they’ll keep their dis- 
tance, I’ll keep mine.” 

“ But, uncle, these are white men.” 

<< Niggers elected ’em, sir ; and they’d elect the 
devil himself if he’d give a drink of whiskey for 
their votes. I know that sheriff, Martin,” the 
old man went on, crimson waves mounting 
slowly on his bald old head ; “ he was born 
down in Alabama. His daddy was a carpet- 
bagger, and his grandfather was an overseer — 
at least he ought to have been if he wasn’t. I 
just told Martin if he didn’t let my hands alone 
I’d fill him so full of holes he’d take himself for 
a cullender, and he’s kept off my place since. 
He doesn’t bother me. I had some dealings 
with his father once in Alabama, and he knows 
I’ll do what I say.” 

“Well, he bothers other people, uncle, and 
he’s fleecing the negroes outrageously.” 

“ What did the fools expect when they voted 
for him ? ” snarled the old man. “ Here, boy, I’m 
busy. If you have any business, say so ; but 
I’ve got no time to waste talking nigger politics.” 

Bruce went home and opened his mind to 
Dick, expecting, it must be confessed, very little 
interest on his part ; but he reckoned without 
his host ; Dick took it up at once with en- 
thusiasm. 


THE MASTER-WORD 


137 


“We must get some decent fellow to run for 
sheriff,” he said ; “ and then we’ll get Uncle Eb 
and the negro preachers and Tyree to help us, 
and we’ll start in on these darkies for a cam- 
paign of education. It’s over six weeks till the 
election ; I think we can turn Martin out.” 

The former sheriff, Peters, finally consented to 
run again, and Ebeneezer and the other negroes 
of his class gladly agreed to do their best to 
secure his election. Meetings were held at all 
the camps, speeches were made, and, apparently, 
great enthusiasm aroused. A few of the mine- 
owners joined in the movement ; but for the 
most part they agreed in a more or less outspoken 
manner with old Mr. Bruce. The Martin crowd 
gave no sign except that the raids on the camps 
ceased, and no fines, legal or otherwise, were 
imposed. The crap-players enjoyed their day of 
prosperity to the full, and much of the money 
which formerly found its way directly to the 
sheriff’s pocket now reached it by the more cir- 
cuitous route of the till in the saloon of his 
friend and colleague, Hiram Bolles, in which he 
had a large financial interest. 

The day before the election Bruce called the 
hands together and told them that such of 
them as wished to vote for Peters could 
assemble at the office at six in the morning, 
when wagons would be in waiting to take them 
to the polls, whither he and Mr. Lawton would 
accompany them to see that they were not 


^38 THE MASTER-WORD 

molested in casting their votes. Promptly at 
the hour appointed both the young men ’were on 
hand, and by their orders a long array of wagons 
was drawn up in the road before the porch. 
Half a dozen negroes were lounging about. 

« What makes the men so slow ? ” asked Bruce, 
impatiently, after waiting for ten minutes, dur- 
ing which time two or three men had straggled 
in. “ Go down to the quarters, Joe, and tell 
them to hurry.” 

“ Yassir,” said Joe, pulling at his cap and 
grinning uneasily. 

He was gone for some time, and finally re- 
turned with two more men shambling at his 
heels. 

« Where are they ? ” demanded Bruce. “ Why 
didn’t you tell them to come ? ” 

Joe looked at the horizon, scratching his head 
in embarrassment. 

“ Dey done gone ter town, boss,” he said ; “ dey 
warn’t dar.” 

Bruce looked at him incredulously. 

« Two hundred of them were pledged to come,”- 
he said. “ Do you mean to say they’ve gone to 
vote for Martin ? ” 

Joe shuffled uneasily. 

dunno who dey gwine vote fer, cap’n,” he 
replied ; “ but de sheriff sont some sort o’ word 
out yere las’ night ter some on ’em, en dey des 
say dey gwine ter town.” 

There was no more to be got out of Joe, or 


THE MASTER-WORD 


m 

any of the others, and Bruce and Dick mounted 
their horses and rode to town in the early morn- 
ing with their eleven voters, the objects, as they 
returned, of a deal of good-natured chaffing from 
the friends whom they met on the way. 

When the polls were closed and the votes 
counted, Martin was returned by an overwhelm- 
ing majority, which included the almost solid 
negro vote. It was a cheap victory for the 
sheriff. The money he had paid for votes was 
speedily returned to him in the guise of fines for 
crap-playing, for the raids recommenced at once. 
The only dead loss, as he himself said, was the 
whiskey, which had been appropriated beyond 
recall. 

Bruce was utterly disgusted. 

“ Uncle was right,” he said to Dick ; “ I was a 
fool to meddle with the thing at all, or to expect 
to teach darkies sense. I can’t get at the scoun- 
• drel through the courts, either. I’ll adopt 
uncle’s policy and warn Martin off the premises ; 
and the next time I meddle with « nigger ’ votes 
I’ll do it to some purpose.” 

“ That’s where you’re wrong, Bruce,” said 
Dick. “ For my part, I’m into the fight for the 
rest of my life, or till I whip. It’s the principle 
of the thing, man. You can’t give up what’s 
right just because you’ve been beaten once, or a 
thousand times. I’ll fight for it till I die.” 

« Well, you’ll never win, old man ; at least, not 
as long as the darkies themselves care less for 


140 


THE MASTER-WORD 


justice than they do for half a dollar or a drink. 
Before you can do anything you’ve got to take 
the ballot away from nine-tenths of them.” 

“If they were all like Uncle Eb or Tyree — ” 

“ But you see they’re not ; they’re a set of 
children, unable to look beyond their noses. 
The only chance is to treat them as children and 
make them mind. I’ll warn Martin olf for the 
present, and next time I’ll take a hand in the 
election after a more paternal fashion.” 

“You’re wrong, Bruce; it’s better to fight 
square, even if you lose. I’m in for it, myself.” 

Bruce looked at him with affectionate amuse- 
ment in his eyes. 

“ A fellow never knows where to have you 
idealists, Dick. Aunt Margaret told me she didn’t 
want to open these mines, and thought, as a mat- 
ter of course, you’d agree with her ; she was 
afraid Bess might object : and Bess didn’t care 
twopence about it, while nothing would do you 
but to rip the whole thing wide open and pitch 
into business for all you were worth ; and a 
fine business man you’re making, too. And now 
you must go into politics — local county politics, 
bless you, in a county full of numskull darkies ! 
Where will ideals land you next ? ” He looked 
at Dick with the indulgent smile of superior 
age, half whimsical, half bantering. 

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” answered Dick, rue- 
fully ; “ do you take me for a prophet ? Of 
course I don’t say I can do much, especially if a 


THE MASTER-WORD 


141 


clear-headed fellow like you goes back on me. 
But after all, it isn’t what one does that counts. 
That’s the world’s way of counting, I know ; 
but a man’s real measure is the thing he works 
for, not the thing he does.” 


“ * — All the world’s coarse thumb - 

And finger failed to plumb,’ J y' 


eh ? ” said Bruce, rising and stretching himself. 
“ ‘ Success is naught, endeavor’s all,’ I suppose ? ” 

“ Exactly.” 

“ Oh, it’s true ; of course it’s true. But if it 
were not for a few people like you and Aunt 
Margaret, the rest of us would surely forget it. 
The Lord knows what would have become of 
me without you — what would become of me 
yet.” 

“ Bess sees it as well as I do, and better,” said 
Dick, half resentfully. Bruce bent to stir the 
fire, smiling into it at the thought of any one, 
even Dick, defending Bess to him. 

“ It’s bedtime for me,” he said, turning. “ A 
bloated aristocrat like you, who doesn’t need to 
begin work until after breakfast, can afford to 
sit up late and talk politics ; but a horny-handed 
son of toil, who must be at the mines on the 
stroke of six, must be off.” 

“ I wish you’d quit that, Bruce. What is the 
use of your getting up with the men ? The 
foremen are out there. There isn’t a man in the 
county who holds your position who does it.” 


142 


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“No. And there isn’t a man in the county 
who gets the work out of his men that I do, or 
who mines so much rock, or does it so cheaply, 
or pays such wages,” said Bruce. “ I don’t 
mean it for boasting, old man, but the only way 
to manage it is for me to be on hand all the 
time ; if I take to sleeping late in the mornings, 
you’ll see a slump in the work.” 

“ I know that, but I don’t care. The rock will 
stay there till we get it out.” 

“ I daresay. But you see I have an ideal or 
two of my own ; and one of them is to do good 
work for good pay — the best work I’m capable 
of. I wouldn’t serve your mother . any other 
way. Good night.” 

He was already at the door, but turned back 
suddenly. 

“ By the way, Dick, do you remember that 
fellow Simmons your mother discovered last 
summer and asked me to find work for ? ” 

“That white tramp who turned out to be 
possessed of a wagon-load of motherless chil- 
dren ? ” 

“Yes. I gave him a job hauling wood for 
the kilns, and afterward I made him foreman 
of a gang. The fellow’s as sharp as a tack, and 
a capital workman when he lets whiskey alone.” 

“ Has he been drinking ? Mother thought he 
hadn’t formed the habit, I remember, and that 
he’d be all right.” 

“ He hasn’t been drunk, but he drinks on the 


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143 


sly. That’s none of my business, if he does his 
work. But I found out to-day he’s been cheat- 
ing systematically ever since I made him a fore- 
man. He gives the negroes the wrong tally for 
their work, and robs them, and he overtallies on 
my sheet and robs at that end of the line, too. I 
might not have caught up with him if he’d been 
content with fleecing the men — they’d never 
suspect; but I’ve known for a good while there 
was a leak somewhere, for the rock shipped 
didn’t tally with the rock mined. I spotted 
him to-day. He ought to be put in the peniten- 
tiary, of course : it would be the best thing for 
those children, too ; but you know Aunt Mar- 
garet won’t see it that way. It won’t do for 
me to tell her when she comes home that I’ve 
landed the man she left in my charge in jail.” 

“ No,” said Dick ; “ she’ll be dreadfully dis- 
tressed, and think he would have been all right 
if he’d just been forgiven and tried again. That’s 
the only spot of unreason in my mother — for 
she does carry it to the point of unreason — and 
it’s one of the finest things about her, too. I’ve 
often thought about it, for it isn’t her nature, ex- 
actly ; I think she must have been like Bess when 
she was young, and inclined to be a little hard on 
sinners. Somebody she dearly loved must have 
needed a great forgiveness once, and mother never 
can bear to see anybody punished any more.” 

« Why, Dick Lawton ! ” exclaimed Bruce, 
where on earth did you scare up such a no- 


144 


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tion as that ? No one who ever knew youi 
mother would wrong her.” 

“ I don’t know who it was, nor when, but it 
happened ; it’s the only way I can explain her. 
But anyway, she made’ up her mind that if 
Simmons were properly borne with he could be 
made a man of. "l doubted it, myself, the first 
time I ever set eyes on him ; but mother’s in- 
sight is so much finer than mine I may be wrong. 
Anyway, he’ll have to be given a chance. What 
will you do ? ” 

« Oh, I’ve done it. I gave him a good raking. 
I told him what I thought of a man who would 
cheat a darky, and I told him the penitentiary 
was where he belonged. But I told him Aunt 
Margaret believed in him, and that for her sake 
I’d try him again, and that it wasn’t too late 
for him to take a fresh start if he wanted to. 
I gave him his old job of hauling wood at a 
dollar a day ; but of course that’s not enough 
for all those children. Aunt Dilsey must look 
after them. I told him to stay in the same 
house, and there’d be no house-rent for the 
present. You send Aunt Dilsey, so if he ques- 
tions her he won’t connect her coming with me. 
He’s mad enough, and mean enough, to let the 
children suffer to spite me if he thought I was 
trying to help them ; he’d see to it that he didn’t 
suffer himself, the sneak ! He’d like to murder 
me, I fancy.” 

“ Bruce,” said Dick, quickly, « there’s a deal of 


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145 


lawlessness around here, and it grows worse 
instead of better. Do you always go armed?” 

“ Of course. Not that I expect to need to 
shoot, but it has a good effect. A man can’t 
manage a gang like these phosphate negroes 
without being ready for any emergency ; but if 
they know he’s ready, the emergency’s not likely 
to turn up.” 

I don’t like your trouble with Simmons,” said 
Dick ; “ he’s mean enough for anything.” 

‘‘Nonsense, the man’s a coward,” said Bruce, 
lightly ; “ and they’re all afraid of me, white 
and black. I had an experience with Jim Porter 
last summer that’s given me a great reputation 
as a dead shot. Jim is the brightest darky in 
the mines, but he was beginning to drink. I 
told him if he’d quit whiskey I’d make him a 
foreman, but* he had to promise never to go off 
the place at night ; as sure as he did it he’d go 
to town, and as sure as he went to town he’d 
drink. He agreed, and we made the contract 
on that basis. He was as steady as a court- 
house, but I think some of the men got to chaffing 
him. He came down to my office one night when 
I was at work down there, his lantern lighted all 
ready for the trip, and told me he was going to 
town to buy him some shoes. 

“ ‘ To-morrow’s Saturday, and a half-holiday,’ 
I said ; ‘ you can go to-morrow afternoon.’ 

“ ‘ I’m ergwine ter-night,’ he said ; ‘ I ain’t er 
baby ; I’m er man.’ 


146 


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“ ‘ All right,’ I said ; ‘ but you know our con- 
tract. Pack up your traps when you come back, 
and be off the place by half-past six in the 
morning, or I’ll have jmu arrested for trespass.’ 

a < I’ll git off in time,’ he said, and started off 
across the fields, swinging his lantern. I hated 
to lose the fellow, and concluded I’d stop him if 
I could. So I took my rifle out of the office 
and waited until he was about to vanish in a 
hollow, and then shot his light out for him.” 
He broke into a laugh. 

What did he do ? ” asked Dick. 

“ He scared me for half a second,” said Bruce. 
“ I didn’t see how a fellow could yell so unless he 
were mortally wounded at the very least. He 
came loping back, yelping at every jump. 

“ ‘ Per de Lawd’s sake, cap’n, don’ shoot no 
mo’, ’ he gasped out. ‘ I ain’t gwine ter town.’ 

“ ‘ Then go to bed, you fool,’ I said, ‘ and be 
ready for your work in the morning.’ And he 
was. I don’t know what sort of tale he told in 
the quarters ; but they all think I can split 
a hair that’s flying from a church steeple. 
Things have moved like they were greased ever 
since. I don’t need to look at a pistol, and 
won’t as long as they know I’ve got one. But 
I’m worse than Aunt Hattie Bruce when she’s 
telling her best friend good-by at the door. 
Good night, old man ; I’m gone this time ; ” and 
he closed the door behind him and ran upstairs. 


XII 


“ Dick,” said Bruce one morning at breakfast, 
“we must find some way to put a stop to the 
drinking and rioting of our men during Christ- 
mas week. I won’t stand again what I stood 
last year and what every manager of a mine in 
the county stands as long as ‘ de Crismus ’ lasts. 
I’ve made up my mind that in this camp ‘ de 
Crismus ’ is a doomed institution.” 

“ It’s outrageous, I know, and grows con- 
stantly worse, with the class of negroes we have 
here ; last year’s record of four killings in two 
days will be broken this year, I don’t doubt. 
But how can you possibly break it up ? ” 

“ I mean to try for it, anyway. If we can 
only break into the old notion that Christmas 
lasts eight days instead of one, and get the men 
back to work on the morning of the twenty- 
sixth, there’ll be no trouble ; and if they can be 
kept sober Christmas day, we can do it.” 

“ If,” said Dick ; “ but how ? ” 

“ I want to give them a barbecue under one of 
the big sheds. They’d rather have it than any- 
thing in this world, except, perhaps, a water- 
melon in July. It will take a lot of hogs to fill 
the crowd full ; but if we provide the meat, 
147 


148 


THE MASTER-WORD 


they’ll eat till they are full, and no power on 
earth can keep them awake afterwards. They’ll 
sleep clear through till next morning, and then 
they’ll go to work. The rains have thrown me 
behind with my orders, and now that the 
weather is good I can’t alford to have the whole 
camp lay olf for an eight days’ spree.” 

That’s an idea worth patenting, Bruce ; 
we’ll try it, sure as fate.” 

So word was passed through the quarters of 
the impending festivities, the men being informed 
at the same time that those of them who did not 
wish to go to work on the morning of the twenty- 
sixth and work all through ‘ de Crismus ’ could 
leave on the Saturday before, which was pay-day. 
But what darky would quit camp just before a 
barbecue, even if staying necessitated Christmas 
work ? Some of the men were told off on 
Saturday afternoon to dig the trench for the 
barbecuing under one of the long sheds, and as 
the negroes went to the office for their pay they 
saw the earth already being thrown out from 
the long line marked off for the trench. They 
ogled it as they passed by, their tongues seeking 
the corners of their lips in luscious anticipation. 
They would all stay, and work on the twenty- 
sixth. 

On Monday the trench was finished, the iron 
bars laid across it and fastened into the ground 
on either side, and that night the men in their 
cabins watched the great fires built up to furnish 


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149 


the bed of coals for the trench. At daylight they 
all, no matter in what quarter their work lay, 
managed to stroll by the shed on their way to 
it ; and all down the trench the bed of coals 
glowed fiercely under the long line of carcasses 
already roasting. There were a few sheep for 
those whose perverted taste did not prefer pork, 
but all the rest were hogs, fat and juicy, and 
already beginning to scent the air with a promise 
of delicious odors to come. Up and down the 
line walked the two cooks — Buck Peters, ex- 
slave of the ex-sheriff, and the first authority in 
the county on barbecued meat, and Joe Walters, 
his assistant, one of the hands. They wore 
white caps, but no aprons as yet, and felt their 
importance mightily. Each carried a bucket of 
spiced vinegar, and a long stick wrapped thickly 
at one end with new linen, with which, as they 
walked back and forth, they basted the roasting 
meat. Every now and then, when quite sure 
that some admiring eye was fixed upon him, 
Buck would walk solemnly up to Joe, issue some 
low-voiced command, inspect the contents of his 
bucket, and occasionally replenish it from the 
supplies on a table near at hand. A dozen 
small boys from the quarters stood to heap fresh 
logs on the fires just outside the shed, leaping 
forward at a nod from Buck with an alacrity 
never displayed at home for similar toil, and 
straining their small bodies over the big logs in 
frantic rivalry for the great man’s favor. 


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Putting fresh coals under the meat was a 
serious and delicate operation which Buck en- 
trusted to no other hands. Joe, trembling under 
his chiefs frown, brought the coals by the shovel- 
ful and dropped them into the trench between 
the carcasses, whereupon Buck himself, with an 
air of mighty import, thrust a long poker through 
the bars and spread the fire until its heat was 
given out in every spot to his perfect satisfaction. 
This done, he would rise solemnly, receive his 
bucket from the hands of a worshipping satellite, 
and resume his stately march. 

That night he and Joe basted and slept by 
turns, a shake-down under the shed receiving 
first one and then the other through the long 
night watches ; and by noon of the next day the 
barbecued meat was a feast fit for a king. 
Brown and crisp without, tender and juicy to 
the bone, it filled the air with perfumed incense, 
while many a longing stomach quaked because of 
it, and many a hungry mouth watered, as the 
quarters emptied themselves and the black folk, 
men, women, and children, gathered for the feast. 

Boards laid on trestles made long tables down 
two of the near-by sheds, and were laden with 
great piles of bread and gallons of steaming 
coffee. Joe helped to serve the meat faithfully, 
but reserved as his own portion one of the heads 
which, split and cooked to a turn, were regarded 
by all as the chief dainty of the feast. As he 
carved ample portions of the meat and gave 


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151 


them to the waiting boys to carry to the tables, 
the head lay on the board beside him, and he 
licked his lips as often as he looked at it. His 
attention, however, was perforce divided between 
it and his duties as carver, so that he did not see 
a little brown paw reach stealthily from behind 
him and grasp his treasure ; he only knew that 
when he looked again it was gone. 

“ Whar dat head ? ’’ he gasped. « Whar dat 
head ? ” he repeated, in growing consternation 
and louder tones, looking wildly about him to 
discover the cause of his bereavement. The 
others, secure in their own enjoyment, paid little 
attention to him ; but presently he caught sight 
of a small brown figure running across the dumps 
and silhouetted against the gray sky. Its two 
hands held something in which its face was 
buried even as its slim legs carried it farther 
afield. With a mingled yell of rage and triumph 
Joe sprang from the shed and gave chase, while 
the crowd looked on and laughed. The boy ran 
as fast as he could, but it was hard to run and 
eat too ; so presently, secure in the blissful con- 
sciousness that nothing short of an emetic could 
rob him of the bulk of his prey, he tore off as 
much meat as his hands could hold, fiung the 
head in his enemj^’s path, and dashed on. Joe 
looked vindictively after him, but he stopped ; 
half a loaf was better than no bread. Picking 
up the remnant of his feast he walked slowly 
back to make the most of what remained to him. 


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and to meet, as best he could, the laughter of his 
friends. Meat remained in abundance, but there 
were no more heads. 

The piles of bread dwindled, the cofPee sank 
lower in the great buckets ; even the meat dis- 
appeared, and nothing remained on the long 
tables but bones, crumbs, and empty tin cups. 
The laughter died down as one group after 
another disengaged itself from the mass and 
walked slowly oif to the quarters to stretch out 
before the big log fires, smoke, dip snuff, and 
ruminate. A raw drizzle of rain set in outside, 
but within were warmth and content ; and as the 
early winter night drew its dark folds about the 
hills, the feast and the warmth fulfilled Bruce’s 
expectations, and sleep reigned in the quarters. 

Hayne, then newly arrived, had come over at 
Dick’s invitation to see a Southern barbecue and 
to take his Christmas dinner at the Lawton 
house. He was much impressed. 

“ I’ll try this at my place next Christmas,” he 
said ; « I’ve only a few hands engaged yet, but 
they’re all drunk already, and my foreman tells 
me they’ll be no manner of account for a week. 
I want to discharge them all, but he insists I 
can’t better myself if I do.” 

“ Men that are straight as a string all the rest 
of the year will go to the devil Christmas week,” 
said Bruce, as they walked toward the house. 
“ You’ll have to put up with it unless you can 
find some way to prevent it ; you can’t run 


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153 


things as you would with Northern workmen. 
But you’ll soon see your way to manage them, 
of course.” 

They went into Margaret’s sitting room, where 
at Dick’s request Hayne, to Bruce’s disgust, 
seated himself at Bess’s piano and gave them 
some very good music, chatting easily at inter- 
vals on many subjects. The air of the house 
charmed him. It was just what he had ex- 
pected Elizabeth Lawton’s home to be, only 
more homelike, more subtly expressive of the 
individuality of the women who made it ; just 
as Bess herself, no matter what he thought of 
her in her absence, proved always more beauti- 
ful, more charming, than his best thoughts of 
her. He talked well, but to himself his words 
seemed all at random, so filled was he with a 
sense of the girl’s gracious and joyous presence. 
He would gladly have excused both the young 
men from all the demands of hospitality if they 
would only have left him alone in that room till 
dinner time. 

Aunt Dilsey, meanwhile, was seated in the 
kitchen as a queen upon her throne, while her 
subjects trembled before her or sped to do her 
bidding. Never before had the responsibility 
for Christmas entertainment of strangers rested 
upon her shoulders alone, and the honor of the 
house must be maintained. During the meal she 
sat in the butler’s pantry, inspecting every dish 
as it passed with hawklike eye, peering anxiously 


154 


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through the crack of the door at the stranger’s 
back, which she liad carefully arranged should 
be turned in that direction, and listening for any 
scrap of conversation which might reveal his 
impressions of Southern housekeeping. 

“ I dunno huccome Marse Dick ter be askin’ 
dat ar Yankee man ter we-all’s house fer Cris- 
mus dinner,” she grumbled afterward to Viry. 
“I yeered ’im talkin’ ’bout Miss Marg’ret en 
Bess like ’e wuz han’ en glove wid ’em. Fus’ 
news you know w’en dey comes back ’e gwine 
be expectin’ ter be asked out yere ter dinner wid 
dat chile en makin’ eyes at ’er ! He mout des 
ez well go ’long ; she ain’t gwine look at ’im ! ” 

“ They’re real good friends. Aunt Dilsey,” said 
Viry. ‘‘ Don’t you remember what beautiful 
flowers he sent her last summer ? ” 

Aunt Dilsey squared herself, her hands on her 
hips. 

‘‘Dat Yankee sendin’ flowers ter ole Miss’ 
gran’chile ? ” she demanded indignantly. “ Hit’s 
enuff fer ter make ole Marse Dick Davison tu’n 
in he grave — en ole Miss, too. On’y ef ole Miss 
knowed enuff erbout hit fer ter tu’n, she’d git 
up en put a stop ter hit, sho’s you’re born. Hit’s 
des come er sendin’ de chile up Norf ter school. 
We all done had enuff er Yankees endurin’ er 
de war.” 

“ Why, Aunt Dilsey, they’re the same as other 
folks now they’ve quit fighting.” 

Aunt Dilsey sniffed. 


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155 


“ Dey ain’t never quit deir meanness ez I’ve 
yearn tell of,” she declared scornfully. “ Can’ 
nobody tell me nothin’ ’bout de Yankees. Dey 
come yere endurin’ er de war en stole mighty 
nigh eve’ything we-all had ter eat, en sassed ole 
Miss ’erse’f twell she up er run ’em outen de 
house. My land, she wuz mad dat day ! En 
silver 1 Me en Thomas Jeff ’son had ter run out 
in de night-time, two-th’ee times en bury hit, 
kaze de Yankees wuz comin.’ I gwine count de 
spoons w’en dis un’s gone. I don’ trus’ none un 
’em.’’ 

Viry laughed. 

« You’ll like him better if Miss Bess marries 
him,” she said. 

“ You hole yo’ tongue, Elviry Sampson ! ” ex- 
claimed Aunt Dilsey, wrathfully ; “ hit ain’t fitten 
ter talk erbout. De chile gwine marry Marse 
Bruce Carleton soon ez she git ole enuff.” 

« How do you know ? ” asked Viry, eagerly. 
“ Are they engaged ? Do you think Miss Bess 
cares for him ? ” 

“ Hit ain’t none er yo’ business whe’er she do 
er whe’er she don’t,” replied Aunt Dilsey, loftily ; 
“ dat’s w’ite folks’ doin’s. But I know she 
gwine marry ’im, en Miss Marg’ret know hit, 
too. Dish yere Yankee man mout des ’s well 
go ’long back whar ’e come f’um.” 

“ I wonder if he knows it,” said Viry, thought- 
fully. 

“He don’ know nothin’,” retorted Aunt Dil- 


156 


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sey. He des green. I yeered ’im talkin’ in 
dar ter our folks, braggin’ ’bout de ole hysterer- 
cal places w’at dey has up Norf like dey wuzn’t 
nary nother thing like ’em now’eres else. Ole 
t hysterercal places ! I like ter know if dey got 
ennything mo’ hysterercaller dan dish yere ole 
Davison place what Miss Marg’ret’s gran’pa done 
make outen de wilderness w’en he en his slaves 
come out f’um Firginny I En Bunker Hill ! I 
lay hit ain’t ha’f ez big ez ary one er dese yere 
hills er Miss Marg’ret’s w’at she’s des diggin’ up 
en th’owin’ erway ter git de phosphate outen 
’em ! Des lis’en at ’im playin’ dat pianner ergin ! 
I clar ter grashus I des plumb wo’ out wid ’im. 
I’m gwine ter bed.” 

Viry helped her to undress, and then sat long 
by the dying fire, listening to the slow drip of 
the drizzling rain on the roof, and puzzling over 
what Aunt Dilsey had said about Bess’s marry- 
ing Bruce. She was sure Mrs. Lawton had not 
spoken to the old woman, but Aunt Dilsey often 
divined things which were in her thoughts. 
Bruce himself could scarcely share Aunt Dilsey’s 
certainty ; if he did, he would be different — hap- 
pier, and less stern. But even if Mr. Hayne were 
in love with Bess, it seemed scarcely possible to 
Viry that she should prefer him, or any one else, 
to Bruce. Then suddenly her thoughts turned 
away from Bess and in upon her own life, soli- 
tary, silent, forever separate from love. The old 
bitterness welled up afresh, and with it a grow- 


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157 


ing, passionate protest against the proud exclu- 
^ siveness of the race to which she felt that she 
belonged, and which yet, without pity or com- 
punction, shut her into outer darkness with 
those whom she despised. 

The music in the big house ceased, the lights 
went out ; her own fire died to ashes ; and in all 
the world no sound was left but the continual 
dropping of the rain, slow, persistent, torturing, 
wearing its way by sure degrees through the 
stanchest roof, and eating into the solid rock 
itself. 


XIII 


One morning early in February Bruce was 
galloping his horse down the plantation road 
which led to the pike. At the big gate he met 
Ebeneezer, leading through it his sleek gray mare. 

“ Good morning, Uncle Eb,” he said, reining in 
as he passed him ; “ you’re one of the people I’m 
looking for this morning. That long wet spell 
in January has thrown me behind again, and I 
want forty or fifty extra hands. Can’t you beat 
around the country and get me some ? Run up 
to Nashville if necessary. I wish the weather 
could be evened up — a little less wet in winter 
time and a little more so in August. Tennessee 
wasn’t thinking about phosphate when she settled 
her weather schedule.” 

Uncle Eb scratched his head. 

“ I mebbe could find some hands, Marse Bruce, 
but I couldn’t recommend none on ’em. Steady 
men have all got a job ; an’ hit’s a cu’ous lot 
come in sense the camps was opened.” 

“ Oh, well, I can’t be particular in a squeeze 
like this ; and I pay by the ton, so if they’re 
trifling, I don’t lose anything. Hustle around 
and get me as many as you can. Try here 
to-day, and in Fulton, and go to Nashville to- 
168 


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159 


morrow. I must get the rock out, somehow. 
We haven’t had three days’ sunshine together 
since the middle of December.” 

“ No, suh, we ain’t ; but I spec we’ll have a 
drought next summer.” 

“ I’d rather have one now,” answered Bruce, 
moving off down the pike, while Ebeneezer turned 
slowly about and prepared to follow him to town. 

Half a mile farther on Bruce met the sheriff, 
and reined in his horse again. 

“Well, Martin,” he said, “they put off my 
cases against you again last month ; and if they 
hadn’t, you’ve made away with my witnesses. 
It looks as if I stand no show to get you into 
the penitentiary.” 

“That’s so, Mr. Carleton,” said the sheriff, 
genially. He rolled his quid to the other cheek 
and took accurate aim at a dried elder leaf in 
the fence corner as a receptacle for his tobacco 
juice. “ What are you going to do about it ? ” 
he inquired with an air of friendly, impersonal 
interest. 

“ I’m going to let you alone as long as you 
don’t interfere with my men. If you come on 
our place to break the law. I’ll take the law into 
my own hands and fill you full of buckshot ; 
but if you’ll drop your meddling in my camp. 
I’ll drop the cases.” 

“ How about the next election ? ” 

“ I’ll do what I can against you, of course ; 
but I’m done trying to educate fool negroes. 


160 


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As long as there are a few white men to help 
you buy up negro votes I suppose you’ll be 
sheriff of Jeness County.” 

“ That’s about the size of it,” said the sheriff, 
composedly. “ And Lord, Mr. Carleton, what do 
you care ? I won’t bother you any more. Those 
cases are a worry and expense to me, and I’ll be 
glad to accommodate you about your men ; but 
as for the rest of these niggers, some feller’s 
bound to make a livin’ off of ’em — it ’ud just 
be flying in the face of Providence not to. Why, 
if somebody didn’t get their money, they’d drink 
it up or gamble it away. I’m real glad you and 
Mr. Lawton have come to take a more sensible 
view of matters.” 

« Oh, I’m not speaking for Dick Lawton. These 
cases are mine, and I’ll drop them ; but when it 
comes to an election, Lawton will fight you every 
time ; and I will myself, only in a different way.” 

“ Oh, well,” said the sheriff, easily, “ it don’t 
matter. Fine young man, Mr. Lawton. If he 
thinks he can beat any sense into a nigger’s head, 
and it amuses him to try, he can’t hurt anything. 
Glad to have had this chat with you, Mr. Carle- 
ton. Any time I can accommodate you, let me 
know. Mornin’, sir. Get along, Jerry,” and he 
touched up his horse and was gone. 

Bruce rode on toward town with something 
of a kindly feeling for the county boss in spite 
of himself, and with a new perception of the 
power of a sharp rascal who adds to his shrewd- 


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161 


ness such an easy friendliness, even toward his 
enemies. 

“ I don’t wonder he pulls the wool over the 
darkies’ eyes,” he mused ; “ and poor old Peters, 
as straight as a string and as sour as last week’s 
buttermilk, couldn’t get a dozen votes in our 
camp ! Well, so goes the world.” 

He rode on, stopping now and then to speak 
to some negro whom he met trudging along the 
road, picking up two or three hands before he 
reached town, and as many on his way home. 
That evening Ebeneezer came in to report. 

“ I found twenty-one to-day, Marse Bruce,” he 
said, standing on the back porch, holding his hat 
between his thumb and forefinger and scratching 
his head with the unengaged portion of his hand ; 
“ I sent ’em all to the office to see you. Did they 
come ? ” 

“ Yes ; they all turned up.” 

“ I was sorter sorry I took two of ’em. I told 
you I didn’t know nothin’ about ’em. But after 
I sent these two out here I saw a man that knows 
’em, an’ he said they’re plumb bad men. Cotton, 
their name is, Ike an’ Sam Cotton. He say Ike 
had the name of killin’ a man where he come 
from, an’ Sam ain’t no better. He jus’ told me 
about it a little while ago, an’ I thought I’d come 
up an’ tell you. Mebbe you better not take them 
two. I can get plenty o’ men in Nashville.” 

“That will be all right, Uncle Eb. I’m too 
short of rock to turn anybody off while this 

M 


162 


THE MASTER-WORD 


weather holds. I’ll try them, anyway ; but I’ll 
keep an eye on them, and if they make any 
trouble, I’ll move them out double-quick.” 

“Well, suh, I reckon you know bes’,” said 
Uncle Eb, doubtfully ; “ good evenin’, Marse 
Bruce.” He replaced his hat and went toward 
the side gate, stopping on his way at his mother’s 
cabin. 

The fine weather held for quite two weeks, 
and the men worked early and late in the length- 
ening, springlike days. The Cotton brothers 
proved good workmen, and Bruce had almost 
forgotten Ebeneezer’s warning, when one morn- 
ing, at the six o’clock muster, Jim, the foreman 
of the gang to which they belonged, reported 
them both absent. 

“ Tell you de trufe, cap’n,” he added, “ I don’ 
want dem men in my gang no mo’. Dey tuk er 
notion dey don’ wanter go ter wuk so soon in de 
mawnin’, en dey won’ git up. I been wakin’ 
’em, same ez I does all my men, en yistiddy 
mawnin’ Ike, he say ef I wake him up ergin, he 
gwine bus’ my head wide open. I ain’ been 
down dar sense.” 

“ All right,” said Bruce, “ you take your men 
and go on to work.” Even as he spoke he was 
moving toward the quarters, and Jim looked 
after him open-mouthed. 

“ Cap’n ain’ scared er nothin’,” he remarked 
to his men, “ but he don’ know dem Cottons ; 
he gwine git hurt.” 


THE MASTER-WOED 


163 


It spoke well for Bruce’s discipline that Jim 
and his gang moved off at once to their work, 
which was quite out of sight of the quarters. 
Bruce walked on toward the Cottons’ cabin and 
thundered on the door. 

“ You stop that racket en go ter hell ! ” shouted 
a voice inside. 

“ Open this door ! ” commanded Bruce. 

Oh, hit’s you, is hit ? ” commented Ike. 
‘‘Well, I ain’ gwine ter open nothin’. You kin 
go ter hell, too.” 

Bruce looked around and saw an axe lying 
across a half-cut log behind the next cabin. He 
caught it up and with two or three blows 
splintered the door. The two men within 
glared at him without speaking. 

“ Come up to the office and get your pay 
inside of ten minutes,” said Bruce, curtly. “ I’ll 
give you fifteen minutes to get off the place.” 
He turned on his heel, threw the axe back on 
the wood-pile, and strode off without turning his 
head. 

He went to the place where Jim’s gang was 
loading trams for the washer and stood there, 
giving brief directions, when a queer sound in 
Jim’s throat made him look at him in surprise. 

“ For Gawd’s sake, dodge, cap’n ! ” he gasped, 
falling flat as he spoke in the deep cut of the 
diggings where he stood. As if by magic the 
men disappeared behind the trams, or fell on 
their faces where they stood. Before Bruce 


164 


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could turn a bullet whizzed by his cheek, and 
another cut the top of his hat. His pistol was 
in his hand, cocked, as he wheeled, but as he 
pulled the trigger he found it caught. He ex- 
amined it coolly, found the trouble and remedied 
it, standing motionless meanwhile, while the 
two Cottons emptied their rifles, one shot after 
another. Then he raised his pistol and fired 
twice. At the first shot Ike’s gun fell to the 
ground, and he sank after it, groaning ; at the 
second, Sam dropped his weapon, turned with a 
yell, and ran, holding his right arm as he fled. 
Bruce walked over to the negro, kicking the gun 
out of his way as he went. The men swarmed 
out of their hiding-places and looked at “ de 
cap’n ” with awe. 

“Run down to the nearest cabin, Jim, and get 
me a piece of sheet or something to tie this 
fellow up till I can get the doctor. He isn’t 
hurt much ; I only shot to disable him.” 

Jim ran at lightning speed, and Bruce stanched 
the wound as skilfully as he could. 

“ Quit your howling,” he said sternly, “ and 
get up. Your collar-bone’s broken, and you’ve 
got a hole in your shoulder that will stop your 
holding a gun there till I get you into the peni- 
tentiary ; that’s all. Go to the office till I get 
the doctor; I’ll turn you over to the sheriff 
afterward. No, confound you ! Let that gun 
alone ! ” 

Ike walked slowly to the office, and Bruce 


THE MASTER-WORD 


165 


followed him. He telephoned for Dr. Ward 
and for Martin, to whom, on his arrival, he gave 
a description of Sam. The doctor pronounced 
the wound a slight one, and Bruce, turning the 
man over to the sheriff, went out on his usual 
rounds, amused by the open-eyed wonder and 
admiration of the men, who seemed all to have 
learned of the morning’s occurrence by that “wire- 
less telegraphy ” so common among negroes and 
so hard for the white man to explain. 

A few days later the sheriff rode out again. 

“ Well, your nigger’s dead, Mr. Carleton,” he 
announced genially ; “ I congratulate you and 
the county.” 

“ Dead ! What did he die of ? ” 

“ Blood-poison,” said the sheriff, promptly, 
“ brought on by the hole you made in his 
shoulder. Doctor says a pin-scratch would ’a’ 
been the death of him just as certain: he was 
just where you couldn’t break his skin without 
killin’ him ; you might say he was walkin’ 
around invitin’ blood-poison. But I reckon he 
didn’t know it,” he chuckled, “or he would ’a’ 
been a leetle more shy o’ your gun.” 

“ I’m sorry,” said Bruce ; “ I did the best I 
could. I suppose,” he added, after a moment’s 
thought, “ I’d better go to town and give bond. 
Or shall I wait till after the inquest ? ” 

“ Lord, no ! ” said the sheriff, expectorating 
freely. “ What’s the use of an inquest ? I 
planted the nigger before I come out to tell you. 


166 


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There ain’t no call for an inquest ; everybody 
knows how it happened. An’ I want you to 
know, Mr. Carleton, I know a brave man when 
I see one. You can fight me all you want to, 
but I’m proud to know you, sir, an’ your grit’s 
an honor to the county. Will you shake hands 
with a blackguard sheriff ? ” 

“ I’ll shake hands with James Martin,” said 
Bruce, reaching out his hand ; but I’d like this 
thing brought up and tried. Did you catch 
Sam ? ” 

“No, I didn’t. I believe he hid around here 
for a day or two, but you know how niggers 
are ; the best of ’em will shield a hound like 
that from the law ; there ain’t one in the county 
wouldn’t help him off. He’s gone.” 

“ I know several who wouldn’t have helped 
him,” said Bruce. “ But if he’s gone, the folks 
where he is will have to watch out for him. 
He’ll live to be hung, if somebody doesn’t 
shoot him first.” 

“Well, I hope somebody’ll shoot him,” said 
the sheriff, “at least, if I’d have the hangin’ of 
him.” He turned his horse’s head. “ I saw a 
man hung when I was a boy once, and it’ s a 
job I won’t do for any darned nigger ; they’ll 
have to get a deputy for that. I think I’ll quit 
bein’ sheriff, anyhow, in a year or so, an’ go up 
to the legislature.” 

“ That would offer a fine field for your talents,” 
said Bruce, gravely. 


THE MASTER-WORD 


167 


The sheriff bestowed upon him a cordial wink. 
“ Bet your life ! ” he said blithely. “ Lots doin’ 
in a legislature for a feller that keeps his eyes 
peeled an’ has a good solid constituency of black 
fools behind him. Well, good afternoon, Mr. 
Carleton ; I must be going.” 

Bruce closed his office door and walked tow- 
ard the house. At Aunt Dilsey’s cabin he 
stopped and knocked. Viry answered his sum- 
mons. 

“ Where’s Aunt Dilsey ? ” he asked. “ Is she 
better ? ” 

“ She says she is. She went to the house to 
see about dinner ; that’s the one thing she won’t 
trust to me.” 

“ Let her do as she likes. If she ever gives up 
those keys, she’ll think her usefulness is over, 
and she’ll lie down and die.” 

« She says Dr. Ward came this morning and 
laughed at her for thinking she was getting old. 
I was at school and didn’t see him. What did 
he say, Mr. Bruce ? ” 

“He thinks she’s pretty feeble. She’s sev- 
enty-five or eighty years old, you see ; she really 
has kept up wonderfully. But he thinks she’s 
breaking right fast.” 

“ Oughtn’t Miss Margaret to know ? ” 

“ I’ll write her what Ward said, of course. 
I expect it will shorten her trip. She won’t 
wait until fall to come home if anything’s 
wrong with Aunt Dilsey.” 


168 


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The color leaped into Viry’s cheeks. 

“Will Miss Bess come ? ” she asked. 

“ She ’d hardly stay behind,” said Bruce, smil- 
ing himself at the thought. “ But there’s no 
hurry. Ward thinks. You just watch her and 
take as good care of her as you can ; ” and he 
passed on into the house. 

Two or three weeks later, as he came through 
the yard, he passed Viry on her knees at Bess’s 
favorite rose-bed, and stopped a moment to see 
what she was doing. With a pointed stick she 
had written the word “Elizabeth” in the dirt 
along the edge of the bed, and was dropping 
seed into the tiny trench. He stood looking 
down at the letters, his thoughts far away, his 
face softening, and a tender light in his dark 
eyes. Viry glanced at him covertly as she went 
on with her seed-sowing, patting the light soil 
back into place. He was evidently quite uncon- 
scious of her, though his presence thrilled her 
to the finger-tips. Presently his face darkened 
again and he turned away, lifting his hat to 
push the hair from his forehead with an impa- 
tient hand. Viry heard him sigh as he walked 
across the grass. She stopped in her half-com- 
pleted task, her eyes slowly filling with tears. 
Did Miss Bess really care for him ? she won- 
dered. Surely he did not hope it ; and if she 
did not — Viry caught her breath. Once or 
twice already the thought had stirred within 
her, and now it lifted its head boldly, unre- 


THE MASTER-WORD 



buked. If Miss Bess did not care, if he had no 
chance with her, why should not Viry teach him 
to care for her, just a little, for a little while? 
Not as he cared for Miss Bess, of course, that 
was impossible ; but surely she was pretty enough 
to please a man’s fancy for a week or a month ; 
and why should she not have the poor best 
which was within her reach — if it were within 
it ? If Miss Bess cared for him, ever* so little, 
she wished no consciousness of herself to darken 
his mind ; but so far as Bruce himself was con- 
cerned, she had no compunction. Why should 
not the one man who had the power to give her 
a moment’s happiness pay some small portion 
of the evil debt one of his race had created in 
thrusting upon her the long wretchedness of life ? 
But if Miss Bess cared — Well, she would wait 
and see. 


XIV 


In June Margaret and Bess sailed for home, 
summoned by a cablegram from Dick, announc- 
ing that Aunt Dilsey had had a stroke of paraly- 
sis. Dick met them in New York with the 
information that she had recovered her power of 
speech and was perfectly conscious, but that the 
end was not far off. They hurried home, and 
to Margaret’s lasting comfort arrived in time. 
For several days Aunt Dilsey lingered, in deep 
content, her tired eyes turning from Bess to Mar- 
garet, and back again to Bess, until at last she 
closed them, and stepped from her worn old body 
into the country of ageless life. 

She lay in state in the first of the great par- 
lors, like a true retainer of the old house. Like 
Margaret herself she had been married in that very 
room. Her old mistress’s minister had performed 
the ceremony, and her old mistress had fastened 
her wedding veil in place, and arranged its folds 
over the white dress which had been one of her 
many gifts to her favorite slave. The servants 
from the quarters had gathered in the back hall 
and on the veranda, and the house servants had 
stood in the parlors behind their master and 
mistress. There had been a dance and a grand 

170 


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171 


supper in the barn afterwards, and « ole Miss ” 
had come out to see the bride cut her cake. 
To-day the room was again fragrant with flow- 
ers in her honor, and Ebeneezer, with his family, 
sat in the cool dimness about the coffin. In the 
second parlor, near the silent form which sepa- 
rated the two groups, were Mrs. Lawton, her 
children, Bruce, and several of the older ladies 
from the neighboring plantations. Bess sat by 
her mother, pale, silent, motionless, but Bruce 
saw the bright tears rolling down her cheeks 
and falling on her white dress. He had never 
seen her in tears before, and the sight moved 
him deeply. He looked at the calm face, the 
steady, unseeing eyes and quiet lips, and a great 
wave of tenderness passed over him, a new ap- 
preciation of the strength and depth of the nature 
that lay beneath the charm and sparkle of her 
outer manner. 

Just beyond Bess, and within the front parlor, 
sat Viry. She too was pale and silent, but she 
shed no tears ; and if her eyes saw only Bruce 
and Bess, there was no one in the little group to 
notice it or her. 

Margaret’s eyes were bright and clear. Her 
hands were crossed lightly in her lap, her face 
was raised a little, and on it lay a light that 
seemed to Dick to shine from another world. 
However she might miss Aunt Dilsey in the 
days to come, her most vivid present conscious- 
ness was of union which no separation could 


172 


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weaken, of ties which no shock could rend. 
Long ago she and Philip had looked death in 
the face, and found there life and love ; and 
Aunt Dilsey’s passage into the unknown seemed 
just now to mean a new nearness between her 
husband and herself, the sending of a fresh and 
living message across the voiceless chasm of the 
years. 

When the simple services were over, they all 
walked through the yard and up the hill to the 
family burying ground, where, as had been prom- 
ised years before. Aunt Dilsey’s grave had been 
dug across the foot of that of her old mistress, 
and where later Margaret placed a shaft of spot- 
less marble no purer than the old woman’s faith- 
ful heart. 

A week after Aunt Dilsey’s funeral Bess came 
in to lunch one day a little late, flushed and half 
pouting. 

“I do wish, Diccon,” she exclaimed, as she 
seated herself, that you could And some place to 
dig your wretched holes besides in my own pet 
stamping grounds. Why don’t you go to some 
of those new farms mother bought? Nobody 
minds holes in them.” 

« You’ll have to ask Bruce,” said Dick ; “ that’s 
his part of the job. But what pet stamping 
ground has holes in it now ? ” 

“ Everything,” said Bess, petulantly. She 
knew perfectly well that it was “ Bruce’s part of 


THE MASTER-WORD 


173 


the job,” as Dick expressed it, but she chose to 
ignore his existence. “ I haven’t looked for the 
big fishing-hole yet, but I don’t doubt that’s 
gone, too — water pumped out and the bottom 
scraped clear through to China. It isn’t like the 
same place.” 

“ Where is it you have been this morning, 
Bess ? ” asked Bruce. 

“ Oh, nowhere, specially,” she answered care- 
lessly, “ it’s the same everywhere. But I did 
want some daisies for the sitting room — they’re 
mother’s favorite wild flower, you know — and 
I went up on that second hill beyond the spring- 
house where the best ones always grew, and 
there isn’t a single one left — nothing but dirt 
and darkies and phosphate; and one of those 
horrid old kilns burning and Ailing the air with gas. 
Nearly every beech on that whole hill is dead.” 

“ The gas does kill out the trees,” said Bruce ; 
“ it’s a pity, but it can’t be helped. And I’m 
sorry about the daisies, Bess ; but the truth is, 
there isn’t a square inch of this old plantation 
that wasn’t a favorite haunt with both of us 
when we were children ; and when tracks are 
laid in any direction to run the trams to the 
washer, we have to mine all the rock in that 
neighborhood before we move the tracks some- 
where else. You see it couldn’t be helped. But 
I can get you all the daisies you want.” 

“They won’t be like those,” said Bess, un- 
graciously. 


174 


THE MASTER-WORD 


Bruce flattered himself that he had spoken as 
one would to a child whom one wished to soothe, 
and Bess knew it and resented it ; but she also 
knew, as might any one less blind than the cheer- 
ful and unconscious Dick, that there was an 
eager look in his eyes which is not called forth 
when a spoiled child needs soothing. Bess had 
given a deal of serious consideration to Bruce in 
the last year or two, but her meditations boded 
no ease for the young man whom she honored 
with them. She disappeared after lunch, and 
Bruce, settling his sun-helmet on his closely 
cropped head, started off a good two miles in 
search of some extra fine daisies. 

Viry spent the afternoon in the little sewing 
room behind the sitting room. After Aunt Dil- 
sey’s death she had been brought into the big 
house to stay, and Margaret had fitted up for 
her an unused room opening on the back hall 
above the kitchen. Her school was closed for 
the summer, and she now assisted Margaret with 
the housekeeping, and spent so much of her time 
as she chose in sewing for Bess, which was her 
chief and most pleasant occupation. She sat 
there this afternoon while Bruce gathered daisies, 
stitching her heart into the tiny tucks, and tell- 
ing herself over and over that the thing she 
wished for most of all was for Miss Bess to be 
happy, and if she cared, oh, if she cared at all — ! 

Later in the afternoon Margaret came down- 
stairs, a book in her hand, and passed through 


THE MASTER-WORD 


175 


the sewing room. She stopped for a few min- 
utes to look at Viry’s work, and then moved 
toward one of the long windows which opened 
on the veranda. As she neared it, she paused 
and turned. 

“ Miss Bess is out somewhere, Viry, reading in 
one of her ‘roosts,’ I suppose. If she should 
come in and want me, tell her I am at the 
spring-house beech. And don’t sit there and 
sew so steadily ; you look tired. There’s no 
earthly hurry about that work ; take your 
time.” 

“ I’m not tired,” said Viry ; “ I like to sew.” 

Margaret went on across the veranda, down the 
side steps, and out of sight around the house, 
while Viry bent above her work, a bitter ache in 
her hungry heart. A moment later the front 
door opened, and she heard Bruce’s step in the 
hall. She half rose, flushing and paling, and 
then sat down again. 

“ Bess ! ” called Bruce, “ where are you, Bess ? 
Is that you, Viry ? ” pausing at the open hall 
door. “ Where is Miss Bess ? ” 

“ She’s outdoors somewhere, Mr. Bruce ; she’s 
been out ever since lunch.” 

Bruce looked disappointed. 

“ I haven’t time to look for her,” he said ; 
“ I’ve been gone too long as it is. Here, Viry, 
put these things in water, won’t you, and take 
them up to her room ? She wanted them 
specially.” 


176 


THE MASTER-WORD 


He handed her an immense bunch of daisies 
and hurried out again to the hall and through 
the front door. He turned so quickly that he 
did not see Margaret, who had come back for 
the fan she had dropped on the sewing-room 
floor, and who now paused at the window a 
moment, almost involuntarily. 

Viry was standing with her back to the win- 
dows, her head bent above the bright blossoms. 
Margaret could see her face quite clearly as it 
was reflected in a mirror on the wall, but Viry 
saw nothing but the daisies, felt nothing but the 
warmth of the long stems straight from the 
hands of the man she loved. She knew herself 
alone in the great house, and she was deadly 
tired of the interminable restraints of life. For 
the moment she forgot even Bess. In the sud- 
den outrush of her pent-up feeling it was to her 
excited and longing imagination as if he had 
gathered the flowers for her, and had given them 
into her hands, not as a servant and a messenger, 
but for herself alone. She kissed them passion- 
ately, and then, drawing them closer to her face, 
kissed again and again the stems where Bruce’s 
hand had lain. 

Margaret gave a low, inarticulate gasp and 
leaned heavily against the window, and Viry, 
lifting her eyes, saw in the mirror before her the 
white, drawn face. But the tide of feeling was 
too full and strong within her to fall back in- 
stantly, even at that sight ; and in the mirror the 


THE MASTER-WORD 


177 


two woi^ien confronted one another, silent, motion- 
less. Viry’s face was flushed, her crimson lips 
parted, and for once her beauty had no blot, for 
in her eyes the pale iris had narrowed around the 
great black pupils and had been darkened by 
the stirring of the depths within. It was as if 
some withering blight had been withdrawn, and 
the girl stood up, brilliant, glowing, instinct with 
most vivid life. They faced one another, Viry 
flashing a proud defiance, Margaret with the 
ghastly pallor of the dead. So they stood, 
breathless, statue-like, until Margaret, with 
an effort which wrenched her whole body, 
straightened herself, standing clear of the sup- 
porting window-frame, and then by another 
effort turned with a slow, automaton-like move- 
ment, and went mechanically across the porch 
and down the steps. 

Straight to the spring-house beech she walked, 
but with halting feet and blinded eyes. Once more 
she was in a numbed, lifeless world, where con- 
sciousness seemed blotted out. She sat on a root 
of the old tree, looking vacantly across the hills. 

“ Bess,” she said at last, beneath her breath ; 
u Bess — my daughter.” 

With the words she woke to passionate life. 
She rose to her feet, her slender white figure 
outlined against the dark trunk of the tree, her 
proud head lifted, her deep gray eyes ablaze. 
The patience of years fell from her like a husk, 
and all the scorn and contempt which might 

N 


178 


THE MASTER-WORD 


have burned in the soul of Margaret Davison 
flamed in her haughty face. Then a new thought 
dropped into the angry depths and rippled across 
the surface of her look : it was in the girl’s 
blood ; she had inherited it ; she had inherited 
it from Philip Lawton. The fire in her eyes 
wavered and sank. She would be just ; for 
Philip’s sake she would be just. By some 
strange turn of memory she heard the sound of 
her own voice, years before, as she sobbed by 
Philip’s bedside — “ It was love we needed, more 
love.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she sank 
down on the sweet, thick grass. She would 
never fail in love to Philip again. This was 
what he had feared in that last moment ; it was 
because of this he had despaired. She would 
carry the burden for him to the end : she 
would help the girl ; she would talk to her, she 
would find some place to keep her safe from this 
temptation. There would be some way — for 
Philip’s sake she would be shown some way. 

Then into the troubled confusion of her 
thoughts Bess came again, and once more her 
face whitened and her eyes burned. Bess was 
Philip’s child — and hers ; infinitely dearer to 
him than this chance-born waif to whom he had 
merely wished to do his duty. Bess came first 
to Philip as to her. Whether or not Bess cared 
for Bruce Margaret could not say ; partly because 
she had respected the girl’s reticence on the one 
topic on which she had avoided discussion with 


THE MASTER-WORD 


179 


her mother ; partly because she feared to know, 
lest she should find that the doom of woman- 
hood had already fallen on the child : for she 
was afraid for Bess — afraid even with Bruce. 
And now — she set her lips. That he had given 
Viry the flowers for Bess she understood ; but 
what had he said or looked as he did it, to bring 
that passion into the girl’s face? What had 
passed between the two all these long months of 
her absence ? Oh, nothing, nothing ; she had 
known Bruce all her life ! She had known 
Philip, too. She shivered and shrank against 
the tree. But she trusted Bruce ; the boy had 
done nothing amiss ; she would stake her life on 
it. And Viry had not changed in any way 
until he was gone ; he did not even know. But 
if he should learn the truth — ah, then the test 
would come ! And as for Bess, it would be 
better for her to learn the truth before it should 
be too late. The child might suffer — she might 
think she suffered ; but what could she know of 
suffering, unwed, unfettered, her life her own to 
do with as she would ? It was Bess, not Viry, 
who must be thought of first ; surely her own 
anguish, her patience these many years, had won 
that right for her child. She would watch over 
Viry as best she could, and keep her from actual 
harm ; but if a snare were spread for Bruce, and 
he proved a man to fall into it, in God’s name 
let him fall, before her daughter’s eyes should 
look into his with love ! 


180 


THE MASTER-WORD 


She leaned against the tree, her eyes closed, 
her body spent with the storm which had shaken 
it. She did not hear Bess’s light step on the 
grass. 

“ Why, motherkin, how pale you are ! ” cried 
the girl, dropping beside her and slipping an arm 
around her. “ I’m afraid it’s this sudden heat. 
I ought never to have said I wanted to stay at 
home this summer ! And indeed, I’m quite 
melted into repentance already. Don’t you see 
how ,run down I am, mother ? Let’s take Dick 
and go away.” 

Margaret’s pale lips smiled. 

“ It isn’t the heat, dear. There were just — 
thoughts. I am tired.” 

“ I know,” said the girl, reverently. “ I often 
look at you, mother, and think things I scarcely 
dare put into words. You are so beautiful to 
Dick and me, our life seems so perfect together ; 
and yet I know that to you it is only a poor 
maimed life, and that half your heart is dead. 
Forgive me for saying it, even for thinking it ; 
but I have come to understand you just in this 
last year as I never did before, and all your 
grief and loss. I have been so happy in you, and 
so selfish. I’ll never say it again, mother ; I 
only want you to know this once that I have 
come to know something of what your life for 
us has been, and that I can never forget it, or 
cease to love you for it. There ! I won’t be 
solemn any more ! It’s dinner-time, and the 


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181 


red raspberries are ripe ; I picked a great bowl- 
ful all by myself. And Bruce brought me some 
daisies, and the sitting room is a dream ; come 
look at your shrine, St. Margaret.” 

“ Why didn’t you wear the daisies ? ” 

“ Oh, they’re your flowers ; I wouldn’t pre- 
sume; I’m not fit to be canonized yet, you know. 
Besides, I like roses.” She touched those at her 
belt lightly. “ Mr. Hayne came out with Dick 
and brought me these. I asked him to stay to 
dinner.” 

« They are beautiful,” said her mother, absently. 
Her mind was busy with its new certainty. She 
needed no words to explain to her why the last 
year had brought to Bess a new understanding 
of her mother’s love and grief. 

Viry meanwhile had spent the time in her own 
room, sitting in sharp tension, waiting for what 
might come. Her deflance of Margaret fright- 
ened her, and yet she rejoiced in it, come what 
would. 

When the house finally fell silent, she crept 
into bed with a sigh half of relief, half of regret, 
that the storm was yet to break. But the next 
morning, as Margaret sat in the sewing room plan- 
ning the day’s work, she began to understand that 
there was to be no storm, at least in that dreaded 
quarter. But so deep was her distrust that it 
was long before she freed herself from the fear 
that her punishment was planned to come upon 


THE MASTER-WORD 



her through Bess, or perhaps, in some unguess- 
able way, even through Bruce himself. When 
these fears were allayed, she set down the mys- 
terious respite to some hidden deadly purpose 
which was to wreak itself upon her unawares ; 
while Margaret still delayed to speak to her, 
partly from a hopeless consciousness of the girPs 
antipathy to her, but chiefly from a deliberate 
determination to let Viry suffer what she must, 
that so, if there were a test, Bruce might meet it, 
and stand or fall, for Bess’s comfort, or, at worst, 
for her salvation. This was a justice, she told 
herself, that Philip would well approve. 


XV 


“ Aunt Margaret,” said Bruce one morning, 
“will you drive to Fulton with me after break- 
fast ? I want to talk with you about some busi- 
ness matters.” 

“ I wanted to take mother for a drive myself,” 
said Dick, “ but I suppose I’m cut out.” 

“We can go to-morrow, dear; Bruce and busi- 
ness must come first.” 

“ Pd like to know what’s to become of me ! ” 
exclaimed Bess, in mock indignation. “ Do you 
all suppose I’ll sit in the ashes, like Cinderella, 
while everybody on the place goes gallivanting 
with my unnatural parent ? If you’ll await 
developments, Diccon, you’ll find that you will 
take a horseback ride with your sister this morn- 
ing. My locket ought to get here to-day, and I’m 
going after it myself.” 

“ I can wait till to-morrow, Dick,” said Bruce. 
“ I have business in the village, too, and I can go 
there with Bess to-day.” 

“ Never,” said Dick. “ Do you suppose I’d dare 
back out of taking her ? You and mother go on.” 

“ Bruce,” said Margaret, as they drove off, “ I 
wish you would tell me just what was wrong 
with Viry’s school last winter. From one or two 
things you’ve said I inferred that you didn’t think 
183 


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^'X8i 

it was a success ; but what was the matter with 
it ? ” She looked at him keenly, but covertly. 

“ I reckon the principal trouble was that you 
weren’t here yourself to keep a hand on things, 
Aunt Margaret. I hate to say anything about 
Viry, for you know I never could stand the girl 
somehow, and I may not be just to her. And in 
spite of my dislike for her, I felt right sorry for 
her this winter; she’s had a hard time.” He 
paused, flushing under his tanned skin. “To tell 
you the plain truth,” he went on, “ though of 
course you know it already, that girl is more white 
than black. That’s why I never could put up with 
her, even when I was too little to understand my 
dislike. She’s a monstrosity ; the mere thought 
of her gives me the shivers. I’ve thought about 
her a good deal, too, this winter. She hates the 
darkies, and what’s more to the purpose, she 
makes them hate her. She doesn’t feel as an 
ordinary white person would, or an ordinary 
darky, but as a white person who was forced to 
associate with negroes on equal terms.” 

“ That can’t be helped, Bruce.” 

“ Of course not ; and she ought to have sense 
enough to see it, but she just won’t. She’s sawed 
those darkies off that tried to make friends with 
her till everything in the quarters is down on 
her. She may do better when you’re here to 
help her and keep her straight as you do the 
rest of us ; but if things aren’t different, I’d ship 
her after another year.” 


THE MASTER-WORD 


185 


“ Where could I send her ? ” 

“ Heaven knows ! But I wouldn’t have her 
around here any more ; she’ll ruin your school. 
It will be hard on her to send her away from 
Bess ; she’s the only human she has ever seemed 
to care about ; but I do think you’ve done your 
part by her, and I’d let her hoe her own row.” 

“ Aunt Dilsey thought when I came home that 
Johnson Tyree was in love with her.” 

“ Worse luck for him,” said Bruce, flicking a 
fly from the horse’s back ; “ hard on him if she 
won’t have him, and a blamed sight harder if 
she will. Tyree deserves better luck ; he’s really 
a flue fellow. But I can’t afford to waste our 
ride discussing darkies’ love-affairs. Aunt Mar- 
garet ; I want to tell you about my own plans. 
When our contract expires the flrst of January 
I want to go away.” 

“ To go away ! Do you mean you want a 
vacation ? Why not take it now ? ” 

“ This is as good a vacation as I could ask — 
to have you all at home again. No, I mean I 
want to leave this part of the world — to go and 
seek my fortune, like the fellows in the fairy 
stories.” 

“ Why, Bruce, what is the matter ? ” 

“Nothing, except that I want money — a pile 
of it ; and I mean to get it, or die trying.” 

“ Money ! Bruce, I do wish you wouldn’t be 
so foolish. Why can’t you do the mining on 
shares ? And you’ll have all you can use any- 


t 


186 


THE MASTER-WORD 


way, when I die — if you’re so hard-hearted as 
to make me wait so long. You are really one of 
my children, boy. Why should you go away 
for money ? ” 

‘‘ I must make my own way. Aunt Margaret. 
That was settled long ago.” 

“ Nobody settled it but you ; I never agreed 
to it. You set too much store by money, dear; 
you actually let it cut you otf from those who 
love you ; it isn’t worth so much.” 

“ The money does cut me off — or the lack of 
it does. That’s why I must get it out of the 

WSLJ.” 

How will you do it ? ” 

“ I shall look for gold in some new mining 
region. I’ve saved up every penny I could, and 
I’ve made some besides, renting some land from 
an old fellow this side of Fulton who had only 
a small place and preferred to let some one else 
take the expense and worry of mining. I could 
only look after it at odd times, but I’ve made it 
pay. I have a few thousand dollars now, and if 
I can’t strike ‘ pay dirt ’ myself, I can find some 
chap who has, and needs money to begin develop- 
ing, and will let me in on shares.” 

“ Where will you go ? ” 

« To Labrador, first.” 

“ To Labrador ! In January ? ” 

“ I’ll start then ; I may have to stop on the 
way. Hayne was telling me about it. He met 
an old classmate of his in New York last spring. 


THE MASTER-WORD 


187 


a Harvard man, who was just back from making 
a survey for an English company up there. He 
says it’s to be one of the world’s great gold-fields, 
and it’s newer, and therefore more promising for 
me, than the Klondyke.” 

Margaret was silent for a moment, and then 
asked, “ How long will you be gone ? ” 

“ Until I make my pile.” 

« And then ? ” 

I’ll come back and induce Bess to marry me, 
if I can,” said Bruce, boldly. 

“ Bruce Carleton ! ” exclaimed Margaret. 

« I know I’m not good enough for her ; but 
nobody is, or could be, and I’ve loved her all 
my life.” 

« But I don’t understand. You said you wanted 
money. Hasn’t she enough for you ? ” 

“ She has too much,” he answered. If she 
were as poor as I am, I could ask her to marry 
me to-morrow. God knows I wish I could ! 
But as it is — ” 

“ Bruce,” she interrupted, “ suppose for one 
instant that Bess cared for you ; would you go 
without a word of explanation and leave her to 
break her heart for you, perhaps, through years ? ” 

« I couldn’t speak. Aunt Margaret ; I have no 
right. I’ll be bearing a far worse uncertainty 
than that myself, for Bess must know without 
words that I love her, and I can’t guess how she 
feels to me.” 

“Then take the more reasonable supposition 


188 


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that she doesn’t care ; what sort of chance will 
you have off in Labrador, while there are other 
lovers in the world not quite so leisurely ? 
Even if you make your ‘ pile,’ what good will it 
do you when you come back and find Bess mar- 
ried to some one of the half-dozen men or so 
who have already asked her ? ” 

“ That’s the hard part of it,” groaned Bruce ; 
“ to go away — ” 

«Is what you’d better do, decidedly,” inter- 
rupted Margaret, indignantly ; “ and I’d advise 
you never to come back with any notion of Bess 
in your head. It’s out of the question.” 

« Aunt Margaret ! ” exclaimed Bruce, “ don’t 
tell me there’s anybody else ! Of course I know 
the risk, and I’m just an ordinary fellow ; she’s 
known me all her life, and I can’t be a hero to 
her : but even when I’ve been half mad thinking 
how I must wait while other men were free to 
try to win her, I’ve felt somehow that she would 
care for me some day, I love her so. If there’s 
somebody else — ” 

“ It makes no difference whether there is or 
not,” she answered. « I have never spoken to 
Bess on the subject — though I have noticed that 
she seems to prefer Mr. Hayne’s fiowers to yours.” 

Bruce winced ; he had noticed it too. 

“But that has nothing to do with it. The 
reason I want you never to come back is because 
you are not the man I thought you. You are 
not fit to marry her, or any one ; you don’t know 


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189 


what love means. The hard part, to you, is your 
own suffering and risk, not the possibility of 
suffering to her. You put your pride first, and 
are willing to sacrifice to it not merely your own 
happiness, but that of the woman you say you love, 
provided she is so unfortunate as to care for you ! 
I hope I have given Bess too high an ideal for her 
ever to content herself with such love as that!’’ 

« Aunt Margaret, you are unjust. You know 
what you said yourself about Bess falling a prey 
to some fortune hunter; I want to offer her a 
love free from that imputation.” 

“We will leave Bess out of the question, if 
you please,” said Margaret. “ But for the sake 
of the man I thought you were, and for the sake 
of the next woman you may imagine yourself in 
love with, try to understand — Oh, Bruce,” 
she broke off suddenly, her eyes filling with tears, 
“ how can your mother’s child set money above 
love ? ” 

“ I don’t. But because I am my mother’s child 
I will maintain my own integrity. You don’t 
understand how a man feels. I will accept 
nothing from the woman I marry but her love.” 

“Well, you’ll never get that if she’s worth 
having and she hears you make such a speech. 
As if love counts who gives or who receives ! 
Your love will be as worthless as your money ; 
and neither of them will ever win Bess ! ” 

“ We’ll see,” he answered defiantly. “ I’ll 
have her yet ! ” 


190 


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Margaret shrugged her shoulders. 

« How pretty the fence corners are,” she said, 
with an air of making conversation. “ Did you 
notice that great clump of daisies we passed ? ” 

“ I can’t say that I did,” he answered grimly. 
He looked at her curiously. He had never 
noticed any especial resemblance between her 
and Bess ; but now, as she sat upright, her chin 
a little raised, and an air of proud reserve about 
her which he had never before seen, the like- 
ness was striking, notwithstanding Margaret’s 
paler coloring. 

« Dick was right,” he thought to himself ; 
“ she was like Bess. I wonder if he was right 
about the rest of it.” 

Being only a man, it did not occur to him that 
this sweeping aside of the woman he had known 
all his life, and the revelation of the woman 
Margaret herself had almost forgotten until the 
day she saw Viry with the daisies, must have no 
less a cause than something which vitally affected 
one of her children. For herself she had mastered 
anger and resentment long ago ; but to master 
them where Bess or Dick was concerned was 
quite another matter ; and if Bruce had been 
shrewd enough, he might have measured his 
chance with Bess by the length to which her 
mother was moved out of her ordinary self. 
Not knowing this, he drove on gloomily, ponder- 
ing Margaret’s remark about Hayne’s flowers 
being preferred to his. He did not doubt the 


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191 


mineral wealth of Labrador, nor Hayne’s belief 
in what he had told him of it ; but he thought 
with sardonic humor of the pleasure the man 
must have taken in recommending a sub-polar 
region to a possible rival who was housed under 
the same roof with the girl he was openly trying 
to win. Well, he would go, and he would return ; 
and he who laughed latest would laugh best. 

Margaret sat beside him, apparently in chill 
indifference, though inwardly racked by the 
thought of Bess. She had kept the child’s secret 
as she would have wished it kept, but her heart 
ached for the girl. She was, moreover, keenly 
disappointed in Bruce, and felt once more, with 
all her old agitation, that no man’s love was fit to 
be trusted with her daughter’s happiness. She 
had believed in Bruce beyond them all ; and now 
he had failed utterly. She did not believe that 
Bess would continue to love a man for whose 
ideals her respect must be lowered ; but her love 
would die hard. 

<< Have you told Dick of your plans ? ” she 
asked presently. 

“No. I waited until I could speak to 
you.” 

She did not answer, and they rode on in a 
depressing and fitfully broken silence. It was a 
relief to both of them when they reached home. 
Dick overtook them at the gate and told his 
mother that Bess, not finding her package at the 
express office, had stopped in the village with 


192 


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Molly Caldwell, and would wait for the after- 
noon train. 

“But she had on her riding skirt,” said 
Margaret. 

“ A little thing like that wouldn’t bother Bess,” 
said Dick. “ She told Miss Molly she had come 
to get dinner and to borrow a skirt to eat it in.” 

“ It doesn’t matter,” said Margaret. She only 
wished to be herself the one who should tell 
Bess of Bruce’s plans, lest the girl should be 
taken unawares ; she could do it as well to- 
night. 

That afternoon she was in the sitting room, 
and Viry, having some question to ask about her 
work, sat on one of the old-fashioned ottomans 
before her, the garment spread out on both their 
laps, when they heard Bess in the hall. She 
came in with a long box in her arms, and throw- 
ing it down before her mother, dropped into a 
chair with every appearance of exhaustion. 

“ When I die, mother,” she said weakly, “ you 
can prosecute the clerk at the express office for 
murder.” 

“ What’s the matter, dear ? ” asked Margaret, 
while Viry’s lips curved in sudden smiles. 

“ He ‘ fo’ced ’ me, as Parralee says, to bring 
that thing out here myself, and it’s so wearing 
to manage a box like that when yon want to 
gallop, and get down off your horse, too, for wild 
flowers. I’d as soon carry a broom — rather, for 
it wouldn’t be so fat and troublesome.” 


THE MASTER-WOKD 


193 


« How did he force you, you foolish child ? ” 

“ He said it was too clumsy for me. He in- 
sisted I couldn’t take it on horseback,” she said 
in an injured tone ; “ and of course I had to do 
it. I hadn’t carried it a hundred yards, either, 
before I wished I’d let it alone and sent Uncle 
Eb after it with a four-horse dray.” 

« Why didn’t you take it back ? ” 

My pious care for the clerk forbade it, madam. 
He would have been puffed up with sinful pride 
for the rest of his mortal existence. But I did 
wish Mr. Hayne wouldn’t be forever nagging me 
with flowers.” 

«Mr. Hayne?” 

« He sent ’em. I had a note from him saying 
he had to stop over in Nashville on his way back 
from New York, but hoped to be down on the 
night train, and sent a few flowers to announce 
his coming. A few flowers, indeed I I’m sick 
of flowers! I just wish he’d had to lug them 
out on horseback this hot day ! ” 

Margaret laughed, and began to untie the string. 
« You’re an ungrateful piece,” she said. 

“ I’m not, either,” said Bess, opening her hand- 
bag and drawing a small package from it. “ This 
is what I went to town for, mother, and it’s too 
beautiful for words; I love you for it. Look, 
Viry.” 

She took from the box a round locket, rather 
larger than the usual size, covered on one side 
with exquisite pearls, and with her monogram 


194 


THE MASTER-WORD 


in diamonds on the other. Viry exclaimed in 
delight. 

“ But look inside,” said Bess. She opened it 
and showed Viry two tiny miniatures, one of her 
mother, the other of her father. 

“ Mother had them done for me in Paris,” she 
said. « She wanted her own to be a copy of a 
picture taken at the same time with father’s, 
but I wouldn’t have it. Her face hasn’t changed 
a mite, but I like her hair better the way she 
wears it now. We left Paris in such a hurry we 
couldn’t get the locket, so she ordered it made in 
New York after we were settled at home. Mother, 
you don’t know how pleased I am ; I’ve wanted 
something with your picture in it for ever so 
long — something I could wear day and night.” 

“ I’m afraid that’s not very suitable for such 
steady wear,” said Margaret. 

‘‘Yes it is; I’ll wear it under my waist except 
in the evenings ; my true love’s picture next my--^ 
heart, you know. If it were not really beautiful, 

I wouldn’t put my ‘bitter-best’ sweetheart in it 
at all.” 

“ Aren’t you going to open your flowers, Miss 
Bess ? ” asked Viry. 

“I suppose so,” said Bess, jerking the box 
toward her. “ Oh, but they are beauties ! ” she 
exclaimed as she raised the lid. “ I am glad I 
brought them out, after all.” She lifted two or 
three of them and brushed them against her 
cheek caressingly. 


THE MASTER-WORD 


195 


“ Miss Bess,” said Viry, eagerly, « do you really 
like Mr. Hayne ? ” 

“ H’m,” said Bess, reflectively, “ I like his 
flowers. I like ’em amazing well; only there 
are too many of them ; they’re so perfect that 
each one ought to be in a vase by itself.” She 
threw her hat on a chair and held a half-opened 
bud against her hair, turning toward the mirror 
as she did so. “Nobody ought to be able to buy 
such a quantity of loveliness,” she exclaimed. 
“ I declare, mother, it’s downright common to 
be so rich ! ” 

“ Why, Miss Bess,” laughed Viry, “ you’re rich 
yourself.” 

“ Don’t you believe it,” said Bess, lightly, put- 
ting another rose in her hair and turning her 
head the better to view the effect ; “ as long as 
my precious mother can contrive to give money 
away twice as fast as Bruce and Dick can make 
it for her, she’ll spare her children that disgrace.” 

“ Bess, will you ever stop talking nonsense ? ” 

“ I don’t know, mother ; not if I keep on en- 
joying it. And bless your heart, I don’t mind 
your propensity for giving things to people — 
not while so many of them come my way.” 
She glanced at the locket and smiled at her 
mother. 

“ How would you look in red roses ? ” she 
asked, catching up two or three and holding 
them against her mother’s dress. “ Oh, perish 
the thought ! Here, Viry, give me your scissors ; 


196 


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and do get some vases for those things. You 
may have some yourself if you want them.” 

She ran out through an open window and 
came back with a handful of white tea-roses, 
which she fastened in Margaret’s hair and on 
her breast, falling back when she had finished 
to admire the effect. « You ought to have your 
portrait painted this second!” she exclaimed. 
“ It was so sweet and thoughtful of you to be 
beautiful, mother; if I had to have an ugly 
mother, I’d die of chagrin ! ” 

She turned to the table and began putting the 
fiowers in the vases, stopping when about half 
of them were in water. 

“ That’s enough,” she said ; « they’re too pretty 
to crowd, and I don’t want so many vases. 
Help me put them where they belong, Viry, and 
we’ll take the rest upstairs. I’ll wear two or 
three of them, and you may have the others.” 

Viry carried some of the vases out, and when 
she returned Bruce and Dick were in the sitting 
room, and Bess’s whole manner had changed. 
She was bending over the roses, filling the re- 
maining vases with an air of absorbed admira- 
tion. 

“Who’s been cornering the rose market?” 
asked Dick. 

Bess looked at him with gentle innocence. 
“Mr. Hayne sent me these,” she said. 

“Must be a fine crop this year,” said Dick. 
“ Put one in my buttonhole, won’t you ? ” 


THE MASTER-WOKD 


197 


Bess hesitated. “ I want to put these in water, 
Diccon. Here, IVe one left over from those I cut 
for mother in the garden ; you may have that. 
It’s a beauty.” She pinned it in his buttonhole, 
while Bruce frowned at the window. “ Help 
me carry these others up to my room, Viry,” 
she went on sweetly. She gathered them up 
carefully, and they went upstairs together, Bess 
laughing softly to herself. 

« There,” she said, laying two or three on her 
dressing-table and giving the rest to Viry, « take 
them, with my blessing ; and as soon as you put 
them in water, do come help me dress ; I’m 
awfully late.” 

And so it happened that Mr. Hayne, coming 
down by an earlier train than he had hoped to 
catch, and hurrying out as soon after dinner as 
possible, found the family in the sitting room, 
and Bess herself at the piano, decked in his 
roses and singing love-songs, apparently with all 
her heart. She rose as he entered, and notwith- 
standing his protests, seated herself in a chair 
near one of the windows. Dick added his en- 
treaties to Hayne’s. 

“You ought to sing for Bruce, if for nobody 
else,” he protested. “ You would if you knew 
what he expects to do. He’s about to run off 
and leave us for good and all; he hasn’t six 
months of civilization before him. When he’s 
frozen up in Labrador next winter he’ll be past 
singing to.” 


198 


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Margaret’s heart stopped beating for an instant ; 
she did not dare look at Bess. She had not 
thought of the possibility of Bruce’s telling Dick 
so soon, and reproached herself bitterly for her 
carelessness. 

Hayne, with a self-denial which did him 
credit, turned deliberately and began to look 
through the music lying on the piano. He had 
long feared Bruce as a possible rival, and was 
desperately anxious to know how Bess regarded 
him ; but he would not take advantage of her to 
find out. So he turned away, Vhile Dick smiled 
at his sister, and Bruce watched her with hungry 
eyes. But any one might have looked at Bess. 
The hand which was hanging at her side, next the 
window, closed sharply on her fan, but her color 
neither rose nor faded, and she looked straight 
at Bruce himself with the perfection of friendly, 
impersonal surprise. “ Are you really going to 
Labrador ? ” she asked, in the most natural tones. 

Bruce nodded, paling, and setting his lips. 

«What is wrong with Tennessee that you 
should go to housekeeping with the Eskimos ? ” 
she demanded. “ I consider it a reflection on 
mother, to say nothing of the rest of us.” 

“ I’d like to take your mother and the rest of 
you along if there were any decent place to stay,” 
he replied. « I think that much of Tennessee.” 

Bess shrugged her shoulders. ‘‘ Mother and 
Dick may go if they want to,” she said care- 
lessly. “ I never had any taste for snow-huts and 


THE MASTER-WORD 


199 


whale-blubber myself. I wish you joy of it. 
Mother, it’s a shame to stay here in the house j\ 
any longer. Why aren’t we out on the porch, ( | 
like sane people ? ” 

They all rose. Hayne held the curtain aside 
as the women passed out, his eyes bright with 
relief and hope. It occurred to him that he had 
really been very foolish to take it for granted 
that Bruce was in love with Bess ; it was a 
lover’s natural jealousy, he supposed, but prob- 
ably Carleton’s affection for her was of the same 
brotherly type as Dick’s. He turned his head to 
smile at Bruce with a friendliness he had never 
felt before, but brought his glance back quickly, 
thoroughly sorry for the man whose secret he 
had surprised. Bruce had stopped at the centre- 
table, behind the others, and was looking after 
Bess in utter forgetfulness of his surroundings, 
and with an expression of such passionate long- 
ing and despair as might have moved a harder 
heart than Hayne’s. He had not known how 
much he had hoped for some sign of emotion in 
Bess when she heard he was going away. He 
had meant to tell her himself, and to let her 
know that he hoped to return ; but evidently 
she cared nothing for him : it was useless to 
hope for anything until he was free to tell her 
all his heart and to try to awaken her love ; and 
meanwhile Hayne — he ground his teeth as he 
turned and went out alone through the hall. 

Meanwhile Hayne, indeed, was spending a 


200 


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most delightful evening. Bess was in one of her ^ 
gayest moods, and with every moment his spirits 
rose, though Viry, sitting solitary on the back 
porch and lifting her tear-stained face to the 
night, could have told him some things which 
would have disquieted him as much as they 
would have comforted Bruce. But no one was 
thinking of Viry. 


XVI 


July ended in a blaze of heat, and the drought 
Ebeneezer had anticipated held the land in its 
grip. Beneath the dust which lay thick upon 
them the leaves grew thin and dry ; by day the 
fiery air scorched and burned, and the dewless 
nights brought no healing to the seared fields. 
Early and late the negroes worked, thriving in 
the heat wherein all other life fainted, and the 
long kilns rose on every hand, burning through 
the burning days and pouring out their poisonous 
fumes to complete the destruction of such vege- 
tation as had escaped the drought. Wherever 
the men were Bruce was, directing, urging, con- 
trolling, his hand on every movement of the 
whole great camp. In vain Margaret besought 
him to take a vacation, to close the mines, to 
run them on half time or at lower pressure — 
anything to enable him to rest. He was looking 
worn and thin ; but he had determined to use 
the dry season to such good purpose that Dick 
would have no trouble in filling his orders dur- 
ing the coming winter, and turned a deaf ear to 
every suggestion for his own comfort. 

“I don’t see any use in Dick’s staying here 
201 


202 


THE MASTER-WORD 


just because Bruce will be so pig-headed,” said 
Bess, one evening, when Bruce had gone to the 
office and the two sat with their mother on 
the porch. « I know you have always said you 
wanted to be cremated, mother, but you surely 
don’t care to have it done before you are dead, 
do you ? ” 

Margaret smiled. “There’s no danger,” she 
said. 

“ Diccon,” said Bess, “ you’ll have to help me. 
You know perfectly well mother’s not going to 
budge without you ; she’s been away from you 
too long, and wherever you are she’ll stay ; but 
she’s simply wilting in this heat. How soon can 
you be ready to go ? ” 

“ At a day’s notice,” said Dick, promptly ; he 
had been worried about his mother, too. 

“Very well; this is Tuesday night. That 
means you will be ready to leave Thursday morn- 
ing. We’ll take the six o’clock train.” 

“ For what place, if you please ? ” asked 
Margaret. 

“ I don’t know, and I don’t care,” said Bess, 
rising. “ I’m going to pack this minute. We’ll 
go to a cool place somewhere ; you and Dick can 
settle the rest.” 

She went to the door, and then came back 
again, pausing by her mother’s chair. 

“Mother, mayn’t I take Viry if she wants to 
go ? I really do need a maid, mother ; I’m just 
as feeble ! ” 


THE MASTER-WORD 


203 


“ I don’t think Viry would care to go as your 
maid.” 

“Yes, she will, if I want her. And she does 
look dreadfully. I don’t care what Bruce says 
about her school, I think there are two sides to 
it. She had a wretchedly hard time, and she 
did her best ; and I don’t want to go away and 
leave her without even Aunt Dilsey for company. 
Please, mother.” 

“ Very well, child, if she will go.” 

“ Oh, she’ll go,” said Bess, dropping a pecking 
kiss on her mother’s head and turning back into 
the house. “ Thank you, mother.” 

She ran into the house and upstairs, calling 
Viry as she went, and telling her plans breath- 
lessly. Viry caught her enthusiasm, accepting 
eagerly an offer which, had it come from 
Margaret, she would have refused at once. The 
two routed out one of the men-servants and had 
a couple of trunks brought down into Bess’s room, 
where they fell to packing with much laughter. 

“ Miss Bess,” said Viry, presently, “ don’t you 
pack. I can do it all if you’ll just tell me what 
you want.” 

“ Oh, it’s fun to pack,” laughed Bess, “ espe- 
cially when you don’t know what kind of place 
you’re packing for. We’ll take every rag the 
family has, and we won’t come back till frost.” 

“ But I can do it,” persisted Viry. 

“You can’t, either,” said Bess, “and Pll be too 
busy to-morrow to do much of it then. Pve forty 


204 


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thousand things to do, and I’ll be obliged to go 
over and see those wretched Simmons children. 
I can’t have mother traipsing through the heat, 
and she won’t stir a peg unless somebody goes. 
I wish they were all dead ; they’d be a lot more 
comfortable.” 

« Are they so wretched ? ” asked Viry. 

“ Of course they’re wretched with that beast 
of a father. I cannot stand that man — and 
mother’s so hopeful of him ! He’s what Aunt 
Dilsey used to call a varmint. I wish Bruce 
would knock his head off; then we could do 
something for the children.” 

Viry laughed. You’re bloodthirsty to-night,” 
she said. “ How can Mr. Bruce knock his head 
off when his neck’s so thick ? You’d better give 
him poison.” 

I would, cheerfully, only mother’s so preju- 
diced about things like that ; she’d be certain to 
find some objection to it. No, I’ll just have to 
go down there to-morrow and make an auto- 
da-fe of myself on the way.” 

She set out, when the time came, in the best 
of spirits, protesting to Margaret that a drive 
was the only thing to cool one off in such 
weather, and carrying in the buggy, in addition 
to the supplies sent by her mother, a basket 
of goodies which were to console the tribe of 
Simmons when it learned of her approaching 
departure. 

«I’ll be back in plenty of time to entertain 


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205 


your company, mother, so don’t worry. It’s too 
bad that bald-headed old object should turn up 
just now and have to be asked to dinner ; but 
you go and lie down and take life easy,” and 
she drove off down the road. 

She stayed some, time with the small Sim- 
monses, inquiring into their affairs and hearten- 
ing them up generally. In response to the howl 
which arose when she told them of her going 
away, she brought forward the basket and pro- 
posed a picnic under the trees by the road ; and 
here, not long after, Mr. Hayne discovered her, as 
he rode by on his way to her home. He reined 
in his horse in some surprise, and Bess, with a 
few laughing words, tore herself from the chil- 
dren’s embraces and came out into the road 
through a gap in the fence where he let down 
the rails. 

“ Here, boy,” he said to one of the children, 
“ can you ride my horse up to Mrs. Lawton’s for 
me ? ” 

“ Betcher life,” said the boy, grinning. 

« Do it, then ; this is for your pains.” He 
flipped him a dollar, which he caught and stared 
at, open-mouthed. He had never had so much 
money of his own in his life. He mounted the 
horse in a dream and rode off up the road. 

I throw myself on your mercy. Miss Bess,” 
said Hayne, turning to her. “ Have you room 
in your buggy for a poor wayfarer, and will you 
take him in ? ” 


206 


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“You’d think there was room for half a dozen 
if you’d seen what was in here when I came 
down. Jump in.” She glanced at her watch. 

“ It’s earlier than I thought it was ; if you 
like, we can go for a little drive — just a wee 
one, for mother is expecting a guest to dinner, 
and I want to be there when he comes ; mother 
isn’t well.” 

“ I shall be thankful for even the shortest 
drive,” he answered. “ May I ask who the 
guest is ? ” 

“Just an old gentleman we met on the steamer 
coming home — a Mr. Donelly. He used to 
live in Fulton years and years ago, and knew my 
father slightly. He told mother he expected to 
come here this summer, and she asked him to let 
us know when he came. He has just arrived, 
and as we are going away in the morning, mother 
asked him to dinner to-night.” 

“ Dick telephoned me you were all going away 
in the morning, and asked me to dinner, too,” 
he said, smiling ; “ I hope I won’t interfere with 
Mr. Donelly.” 

“You’d better interfere with him ! You must 
help entertain him. He’s a good-natured old 
soul, but as deaf as a post. He tears my lungs 
to tatters. I’ll need to go away to recuperate.” 

“ You’ll have a charming trip. I was there 
once, and — ” 

“ Oh, it’s a secret ! ” cried Bess. “ I told Dick 
my part was to induce the family to go, and to 


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207 


do the packing, and he and mother could decide 
about the place. I won’t know where it is 
until we’re there. I’ll be guessing every time 
we reach a city or a junction, wondering where 
we’ll branch off.” 

“ I’m glad I’m not left so completely in the 
dark,” he answered. « I expect to take a vaca- 
tion soon myself, and I’d like to spend it there, 
if I may.” 

“ It’s in a free country, isn’t it ? ” asked Bess. 

“ One is never free where one is unwelcome.” 

Bess looked surprised. “ I can’t answer for 
the natives, of course,” she said, since I don’t 
even know who they are ; but if they are not as 
cordially minded as they should be, mother and 
Dick and I will do what we can to soothe your 
feelings.” 

“ If you will ansvrer for yourself, that is all I 
ask.” He paused a moment, and then let the 
impulse so often checked have way. “ It is you, 
and you only, that I would come to see. You 
must know that ; you must know — ” 

“ I know that we are excellent friends,” said 
Bess, quickly, giving him a full, direct look from 
her dark eyes. You don’t know how much I 
have enjoyed and appreciated your friendship, 
Mr. Hayne. Most of the young men I know try 
to talk sentiment to me, either because they 
think I haven’t sense enough for intelligent con- 
versation, or because it amuses them for the 
time to fancy themselves in love ; and I have 


208 


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liked you so much because you were not like that. 
I am never afraid of your forgetting that we 
have pleasanter ground to meet on than that of 
sentiment, or of your dropping into — ‘ maudlin 
ways ’ I used to say,” she wound up, laughing ; 
« I don’t call people maudlin to their faces now, 
but I think it just the same. I’m so glad you’re 
not maudlin ! ” 

« I will be whatever you wish,” said Hayne, 
slowly, ‘‘and for as long as you wish. May 
your friend who is not maudlin come to see you ? ” 

“ I will be charmed,” she said cordially. 
“We won’t say good-by, then, but au revoir in 
that happy land where there are no hot days 
and no Simmonses.” 

“ Simmons ? Is that the name of your friends ? ” 

“ Oh, mother’s friends, not mine — at least the 
Simmons-in-chief is. Mother and I nearly come 
to blows about him. These children are afraid 
of him, and they won’t tell me a thing against 
him, but I know he treats them dreadfully ; but 
mother thinks he must love them because though 
he has eight children of his own, he refuses to 
part with the two older girls, who are his wife’s 
by a former marriage. I should think he would 
refuse, while they drudge for him as they do, 
the selfish pig ! I started to give him a piece 
of my mind one day. I was going to the place 
where he hauls the wood for the kilns, but Bruce 
stopped me and made me promise to let him alone. 
Bruce says he’s a dangerous man.” 


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209 


“ Yet he employs him ? ” 

“ That’s mother. Bruce wants to send him to 
the penitentiary, but mother’s reforming him, 
and she won’t hear a word of it. He used to be 
a foreman, but Bruce found him cheating, so he 
put him back at hauling wood.” 

“ If he’s dangerous, I should think Mr. Carle- 
ton would better be careful after that.” 

“ Oh, Bruce isn’t afraid. Nobody would dare 
to attack him.” 

“ The Cottons dared, and it ^was more good 
luck than anything else that he wasn’t hurt.” 

« The Cottons ? ” asked Bess. “ Who are 
they ? ” 

“ Didn’t you know ? I’m sorry I spoke of it. 
He must have wanted to keep it from you ; but 
it has been county talk to such an extent that it 
never occurred to me you hadn’t heard of it.” 

“ Well, it can’t be kept from me now,” she 
said, smiling ; ‘‘ I’m on the trail. What was it ? ” 

He told her the story, and this time he watched 
her, since she herself had called for it ; and as 
he saw her proud face and kindling eyes, he 
thought, once more, what an excellent place 
Labrador was for a young man of Bruce’s attrac- 
tions. At the same time he comforted himself 
with the reflection that her admiration would 
scarcely be so open and unembarrassed if Bruce 
were a really dangerous rival. The more he 
reflected, the more he was comforted. She had 
repulsed him because her heart was not yet 


210 


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awakened. He might not in the end be the 
favored lover ; hopeful though he was, he was 
not overconfident ; but the girl was pure gold 
through and through, and if it were possible, he 
would win her. 

Bess broke in on these meditations suddenly. 
“ It does seem to me that that sun is remarkably 
low for the time of day ; I wonder if my watch 
is right.” She looked at it and uttered a little 
exclamation of dismay. “ It has stopped ! It 
hasn’t budged since I looked at it before ! What 
time is it, Mr. Hayne ? ” 

“ Five minutes to six,” he replied. « I had no 
idea it was so late. Miss Bess.” 

She was turning the horse even as he spoke, 
and fiicked her whip about the animal’s ears. 

“ I’m sorry,” she said ; “ but no matter how 
hot it is, you must travel.” 

They fiew along the road, leaving a smother 
of dust behind them. As they drove up the 
avenue before the house, Bess leaned forward a 
little with a resigned sigh. 

“ I knew it ! There’s his poor old bald head 
shining in the sitting room. Jump out, Mr. 
Hayne, and help mother scream till I come. 
I’ll drive round to the side.” 

She drove round the house, threw the reins 
to the waiting servant, and ran through the back 
hall and up the back steps, calling as she went : — 

“ Viry ! Viry ! Do come help me dress ! I’m 
scandalous late, and in such a hurry ! ” 


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211 


Viry was out of her room and at the door of 
the hall before she reached it herself, and the 
two ran to Bess’s room together. Bess flung 
her hat on the bed, snatched off her collar, and 
dropped her locket on her dressing table, talking 
as she threw her things right and left. 

‘‘ Don’t stop to put things away now, Viry. 
I left the dress I want in that drawer — the 
white one you made me; and get the chain I 
wear when I put the locket outside. Oh, 
Caesar ! I do believe I ’ve packed up the last 
slipper I possess ! ” 

She flew at the trunk wildly, while Viry took 
out the dress, delighted, as Bess knew she would 
be, at her choosing one which she had made. 
They both fell frantically to work, and in an 
amazingly short time she was almost ready. 
Viry was slipping the ribbon around her waist 
when there came a knock at the door. 

Come in,” called Bess. 

The door opened a little, and through the 
crack was inserted Parralee’s full moon face, 
surmounted by a big bandanna handkerchief. 
Her portly person followed it slowly. 

Is you mos’ ready, honey ? ” she inquired. 

Yo’ ma got strange comp’ny, en my dinner’s 
des natchelly gittin’ sp’iled ; ef hit dries up a 
leetle mo’. Til lose my name er bein’ de bes’ cook 
in de county.” 

I’m ready now,” said Bess, catching up her 
locket, and trying to fasten the chain. “Oh, 


212 


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what is the matter with that clasp ? Never 
mind, Viry, I haven’t time ; I won’t wear it this 
evening; put it away for me. Your dinner’ll 
be perfect, Parralee, it always is ; but if by a 
miracle anything should go wrong, don’t you 
worry ; I ’ll ogle that old gentleman till he won’t 
know whether he ’s eating codfish or ambrosia. 
Thank you ever so much, Viry,” and she was 
gone, in a flutter of lace and ribbons, down the 
hall. 

« She air de parties’ chile in de Nunited States,” 
said Parralee, proudly, looking after her. “ But 
ef she gone, I got ter see ’bout dishin’ dinner.” 
She turned her bulk toward the back hall, 
chuckling ponderously as she went. “ Codfish ! 
Miss Bess must er got de name er dat w’ilst 
she wuz up dar wid de Yankees ; she ain’ never 
seed no sich truck in Par’lee’s kitchen, sho’.” 

Viry lingered, straightening out the disorder 
of the room, and putting into the trunks the 
few things left in the drawers. Then she took 
up the chain, slipped the locket from it, straight- 
ened the clasp, and, putting it into its box, 
dropped it into the trunk. The locket she held 
in her hand a minute, turning it over and admir- 
ing it afresh ; then, idly, she opened it to look 
once more at the pictures Bess had showed her 
within it. As it fell apart something fluttered 
out to the floor ; she stooped to pick it up and 
saw that it was a head of Bruce, which she 
recognized as cut from a kodak picture Dick 


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213 


had taken of the family just before Bess left for 
Europe. It was only a year old, but its worn 
and dimmed condition showed that it had seen 
constant service. Bess had carried it about with 
her long before she had .slipped it into this locket 
between her father’s and mother’s pictures. She 
stood with it in her hand, looking down at it, 
and recalling word by word what Bess had said 
about the locket and its uses the day she brought 
it home. 

She had been almost sure that Bess cared for 
Bruce that day w^hen she watched her with the 
roses ; indeed, for a time she had been quite 
sure. But the hope to which she clung, poor 
and unworthy as it was, was all she had to feed 
her love upon; and so, against reason, she had 
again allowed it to spring up. Miss Bess would 
do almost anything, she told herself, for pure 
love of teasing ; she might only have wanted to 
tease Mr. Dick. But what she had now come 
upon must put an end to hope. She put the 
picture in its place again, and laid the locket 
down, growing very pale. She went to the win- 
dow, and leaned against it, looking out into the 
moonless, torrid night. 

In Viry’s thoughts it rested with her whether 
or no Bruce should be true to Bess ; and this was 
not because of any cynicism, nor from any sign 
of regard in the man himself ; but because when 
one is young and strong one must live, somehow ; 
and when all the natural outlets are closed, and 


THE MASTER-WORD 



love and joy and companionship are impossible 
in the everyday world, one builds another world 
of dreams ; a world where imagination waits on 
hope, and only those thoughts enter over which 
hope bears rule. In Viry’s dream world Bruce 
would love her, at least enough to ruin his love 
for Bess ; so that in her thought it was essential 
to Bess’s peace that she should give him up. To 
her the sacrifice was real and present, and love 
could call upon her for no greater gift. More- 
over, it was love alone that called ; she had no 
sense of duty to herself or to Bruce. The evil 
inheritance was in her blood, and now that her 
blood was stirred, it lifted itself boldly and with- 
out reproof. For religion she had only contempt, 
and defiance for the God of whom it spoke. 
He was Margaret Lawton’s God, the complacent 
deity of those who sat at ease to worship him, 
while neither he nor they cared for the dogs who 
crawled beneath the table to feed their starved 
life upon the crumbs. 

And Bess had so many things, her life was so 
rich and full ; she threw love away as she went, 
in sheer carelessness of that of which she already 
had so much. Why could she not be satisfied 
with her mother and Dick ? Mr. Hayne loved 
her — a man with whom no girl need find fault ; 
and there were other men. She had had every- 
thing, always, and Viry had had nothing : should 
she kill her one hope for Bess ? She stood by the 
window, cold in the breathless heat. Her mind 


THE MASTER-WORD 


215 


went back to her childish days, and once more 
she raged against Margaret, resented Bruce’s rude- 
ness, and passed with scarcely a thought Dick’s 
impersonal aloofness. But through all the days, 
however bitter or dark, Bess flashed like a thread 
of gold. She was the jo}^ of life, its light, its 
soul ; impatient and proud to others often, but 
to Viry always the same, her champion, her 
defender, her friend. Tears welled up in the 
wide, dry eyes, the set lips parted and quivered. 
It had not been given Viry to know much of 
love, but the gleam she had caught she followed. 
She fell upon her knees, her forehead against the 
window-sill. 

« Oh, take him ! ” she sobbed ; « I give him 
up ! Miss Bess, I give him up ! ” 


XVII 


The drought was not broken until late in 
August, when for two or three weeks the con- 
stant rain seriously interrupted Bruce’s mining ; 
but when at last the weather cleared the parched 
earth was fresh and green, the trees had taken 
on new life, flowers rioted in the garden as if 
spring had come again, and Tennessee’s long 
golden fall had begun, wherein heat is so tem- 
pered with coolness, and cold so shot through 
with sunny warmth, that from the breaking of 
the summer heat until January it is a climate flt 
for the gods. 

Bess had said that they must remain away 
until frost; but that might have meant until 
deep in November, and both Margaret and Dick 
were anxious to return, as indeed was Bess her- 
self, though she would give no sign of it. So 
the end of September found them at home again, 
and Dick hard at work once more in an effort to 
induce the negroes to cast their ballots for law 
and order. It was still a year before Martin’s 
term of office would expire, but with a view to 
strengthening his hold upon the negroes he had 
managed to reopen the long-settled question of 
prohibition, in the hope of throwing the whole 
216 


THE MASTER-WORD 


217 


county, as well as its two towns, open to the 
liquor traffic. The better element of the people 
was thoroughly roused, and an effort was being 
made to drive the bar-rooms out of Fulton and 
the village, as well as to keep them out of the 
county. Drinking, and its attendant lawlessness, 
had increased alarmingly under Martin’s rule, 
and the negroes in the mining camps were for 
the most part of a class to constitute under 
present conditions a serious menace to the wel- 
fare of the section. 

Dick threw himself into the contest with all 
his heart, and for once found solid backing in 
the white part of the population, as well as 
among the better class of negroes. Hayne 
worked with him cordially, but Bruce would 
have nothing to do with the campaign from first 
to last. 

“I’ll come in on the home stretch,” he said 
one evening, “ and bag more votes than you and 
Dick together, Mr. Hayne.” 

“You don’t mean that you intend to coerce 
them ? ” asked Hayne. 

“ I certainly do,” answered Bruce. “ I’ll get 
every mother’s son in this camp, too ! ” 

Hayne looked at Dick incredulously. “ You 
don’t believe in that sort of thing, do you. Law- 
ton ? ” he asked. 

“ I don’t know,” said Dick ; “ I didn’t ; but 
sometimes I think Bruce is half right. I believe 
in doing everything possible to teach them — 


THE MASTER-AVORD 



Bruce is wrong there ; but whether a community 
should wait for decent government until such 
men learn their lesson — I don’t know. There 
are dangers either way. Theoretically it’s an 
outrage to coerce a man’s vote ; but practically, 
if these negroes and the white men who are using 
them are turned loose a little more, this county 
won’t be a safe place for anybody to live in.” 

“ Surely, it’s not so bad as all that,” said 
Hayne ; “ though there is a deal of lawlessness, 
too : but I think the election can be won by fair 
means. The negroes themselves are at work.” 

“ Yes,” said Bruce ; “ men like Tyree and 
Uncle Eb and the preachers. And for every one 
of them there are a hundred or two of the camp 
negroes who will stand in for anything Martin 
wants badly enough to pay them a drink to vote 
for it. I’ll see to the votes of this camp as a 
matter of principle, but it won’t do any good ; 
Martin’s crowd will make a) clean sweep, and 
you’ll see it.” 

It was the morning after this conversation 
that Tyree came into Dick’s study to report some 
of his work among the negroes. When he left 
the room he walked on down the hall to the 
sitting room, where he usually reported the sick 
to Margaret. He knocked at the open door. 

“Come in, Johnson,” said Margaret, looking 
up. “ What is it to-day ? Is any one ill ? ” 

“ No, Miss Margaret. I came about my own 
affairs. Can you spare me a few minutes ? ” 


THE MASTER-WORD 


219 


“ Certainly. Won’t you sit down ? ” 

“Thank you,” said Tyree, “but I’d rather 
stand up.” He stopped near the door, in evident 
and unusual embarrassment. “ I want to speak 
to you about Viry,” he added, after a pause. 

“ Yes ? ” said Margaret. “ Perhaps I can guess 
what it is,” she went on, after another silence. 

“ I want to ask her to marry me.” 

“ Then why don’t you ? ” 

“ Because I’m afraid she isn’t ready for it.” 

“Then it would be better to wait, wouldn’t 
it?” 

“ I don’t know. It’s this way. Miss Margaret : 
I saw her in a terrible passion once last spring 
because Jim Mason, one of Mr. Carleton’s fore- 
men, had tried to make love to her. I came on 
her unexpectedly just as he was leaving her, and 
she hadn’t had time to control herself. She 
seemed mad with everybody in the world ; she 
was certainly mad with me. I don’t understand. 
But if I speak to her too soon — if she’s ever in 
such a rage with me as she was with Jim, she’ll 
never get over it. I think she likes me better 
than the others ; she will sit and talk to me, and 
she won’t to them ; but she won’t go anywhere 
with me.” 

“ What do you want me to do ? ” 

Tyree twisted his hat, and looked embarrassed. 

“ If you could find out how she feels — ” he 
said deprecatingly. 

“Do you mean you want to know that the 


220 


THE MASTER-WORD 


girl cares for you before you will risk speaking 
to her ? ” demanded Margaret. “ I couldn’t spy 
on any woman about such matters, whether she 
were black or white.” 

“ I don’t mean that,” said Tyree, earnestly ; “ I 
don’t mean that at all. I only want to know if 
there’s any chance of her listening to me with- 
out getting into such a fury. She could be 
friendly enough to say no kindly, I should 
think, and to allow me to go on speaking to her. 
If she’ll do that, that’s all I want to know.” 

« She may do that, but she will hardly do 
more, Johnson,” said Margaret. “I wish she 
would. But she hates her own race. I don’t 
believe she will ever marry.” 

Tyree did not answer. He was looking out 
of the window, and his face stirred Margaret’s 
sympathy. 

“ I will speak to her,” she said. “ I can do it 
very well. Aunt Dilsey left a message with me 
for her about you. Aunt Dilsey thought you 
cared, and hoped that Viry would listen to 
you. I do not hope it at all, though I wish 
it, more for her sake than for yours. But I will 

trV.” 

“ Thank you. Miss Margaret,” he said absently. 
He turned to go. 

“ Wait a minute, Johnson,” she said impul- 
sively ; “ I’d like to ask you something. I’ve 
wondered a thousand times if other educated 
negroes — especially those of mixed blood like 


THE MASTERr-WORD 



Viry — shared her hatred of their own race, or 
her desire to associate with white people. Don’t 
answer me if you would rather not ; but if you 
don’t mind, I do want to know just how you feel 
about such things.” 

Tyree stood gazing into his hat for a few 
moments, and then looked at her frankly. 

“Just for myself. Miss Margaret, I’ve seen the 
time when I would have given my right eye to 
be white,” he said slowly. “ You don’t know, you 
can’t imagine, what it is like to be one educated 
man shut in with a world of utterly ignorant 
men and women, and to see all round you 
another world that you could enjoy, a world of 
knowledge and wisdom and power, and to be an 
outcast from it. You can’t think what it is like 
to walk the streets an educated man with a 
black skin.” 

He stopped in some emotion and looked at 
her again. He understood perfectly that the 
sympathy in her face was for his suffering 
merely, and not at all from any feeling that the 
conditions which produced his suffering were at 
fault. 

“ I feel differently now,”- he went on. “ There 
must have been some purpose in making negroes. 
Even if God is left out, they must be better 
adapted to certain conditions than other races, or 
they would not be. How far their qualities can 
carry them nobody can tell. But I made up my 
mind that since I was a negro it was possible to 


THE MASTER-WORD 


make being a negro worth while, and that I’d 
live to prove it ; I wouldn’t be ashamed, and I 
wouldn’t be sorry ; and I’m not.” 

“You have certainly proved that it is worth 
while, Johnson ; both white and black feel that 
of you. And you don’t feel as Viry does about 
the lack of white association ? ” 

“ I have it, so far as I need it,” he replied. 
“ You and Mr. Lawton have both helped me 
this morning. There isn’t a white man around 
here who won’t talk to me kindly and politely 
if I need it — except old Mr. Bruce,” he added, 
smiling. “ And every year lessens the loneliness 
of the educated negro among his own people. I 
have a number of friends — not only men like 
your Ebeneezer, but the preachers and teachers 
and their families. It is very different from 
what it was even ten years ago.” 

“But, Johnson,” she insisted, “do you believe 
that it is really best, or merely inevitable, that 
the two races should remain apart ? ” 
r “ Better for the white race, of course ; and for 
I the world, because, for as far as we can see, the 
/white race is of so much more importance to 
the world than ours. If the good of the negroes 
could be separated from the good of the whole — 
but it can’t be, in the long run. It is best all 
I round.” 

“ I wish you could make Viry see it,” said 
Margaret, with a sigh. “ If she could only be 
brought to see the reasonableness of law, and 


THE MASTER-WORD 


223 


that laws are not like rules, to be proved by 
exceptions — ” She stopped, with the sense of 
helplessness which the thought of Viry always 
brought. 

“ You can do it better than I, Miss Margaret.” 

She shook her head. “I have no influence 
over Viry. I can And out, sometimes, what she 
feels or thinks, but I can never affect her feeling 
or thinking in any way.” 

Tyree turned to go, and Margaret sat long in 
her place thinking of Viry and dreading the per- 
formance of her promise. So far as Tyree was 
concerned, she felt quite certain of the outcome : 
the most she could do for him would be to spare 
him the outbreak which he feared. 

It was late in the afternoon before she sent 
for the girl to come to her room. Viry answered 
the summons in some surprise. She sat down 
on the low seat under the window which Mar- 
garet indicated and turned toward her a some- 
what disturbed face, thinking of the daisies and 
of the reckoning which she had always believed 
would come. 

The day had been chilly and damp, and now 
that the light was fading a slow, heavy rain had 
set in. There was a little wood fire on the hearth, 
and Margaret sat with her side toward it, her face 
shielded by her hand from its flickering light, her 
eyes on Viry, where the light from the window 
fell full upon her. She half guessed the girPs 
troubled thoughts, and was glad that her words 


224 


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would bring her relief. Perhaps the relief would 
make her more easy of access. 

Viry,” she began, “ did Aunt Dilsey ever say 
anything to you of what she hoped for your 
future?” 

Viry shook her head in surprise. “ No, Miss 
Margaret.” 

“ She spoke to me. I don’t know whether or 
not you ever quite understood how much she 
loved you, Viry. I think she loved Bess better 
than any one, though she would not have wanted 
me to think it ; and next to Bess she loved you 
and me.” 

Viry waited, wondering what was to come. 

“ She felt quite safe about leaving Bess and 
me, because I have Dick, and Bess has Dick and 
me, so that we will be cared for always. She 
knew, of course, that all three of us would care 
for you so far as we could, but she knew that in 
some ways her death would leave you very much 
alone.” 

A sudden choking rose in Viry’s throat, but 
she mastered it and looked at Margaret with clear 
eyes. She would show no grief before her. 

“ She left a message with me for you,” Mar- 
garet went on. “ I was to deliver it or not as I 
thought best. It was just a message of love, 
and of her hope that you would do a certain 
thing.” 

Viry’s face had grown very pale ; her throat 
was dry. “ What was it ? ” she asked. 


THE MASTER-WORD 


225 


«Aunt Dilsey thought — rightly, I think — 
that Johnson Tyree was in love with you. She 
hoped — ” 

“ I understand,” said Viry, her eyes blazing. 
“You need not say anything more.” 

“ I feared it would be useless,” said Margaret ; 
“ yet you might listen, if only out of respect to 
Aunt Dilsey.” 

Viry lifted her head, her thin nostrils dilating. 

“ She left the message, you say, to be delivered 
or not as you thought best, and yet you chose 
to deliver it. I consider that it comes from you, 
and not from her ; and from you it is a double 
insult ! ” She sprang to her feet ; her face 
flamed. 

“ Viry ! ” exclaimed Margaret, lifting her head 
proudly, and then stopped, while the girl looked 
at her curiously, wondering, as she had often 
wondered before, why this woman bore from her 
what no one else, white or black, would dare to 
say to her. For her part, Margaret was think- 
ing of Philip. She had expected Viry to be 
angry at the mention of Johnson’s name, and 
what she really wished was to concede her posi- 
tion in regard to him, and to say something, if 
it were possible, which would help the girl to a 
better acceptance of her lot in life. That the 
lot was hard she knew, and for Philip’s sake she 
wished to help her. She put her anger quite aside. 

“ I had no wish to insult you, Viry/’ she said 
quietly. 

Q 


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226 , 

W 

“You know how I feel toward negroes,” an- 
swered Viry, still in the first rush of her passion, 
“ yet you do not hesitate to suggest that I should 
marry one. But that is the least part.” She 
stopped, half choked, the blood sinking out of 
her face, drop by drop. Then she went on 
again, slowly, but without hesitation. “ You 
suggest my marriage to a negro when you know 
perfectly well that with my whole soul I love a 
man who is white.” 

Margaret herself had grown pale. “It is a 
madness,” she said. 

“ Does any one know that better than I ? ” cried 
Viry, flinging her hands out wildly, and then 
clasping them tightly before her, as if to force 
them into stillness. 

“ Viry,” said Margaret, “ you will not believe it, 
but I am desperately sorry for you ; I want to 
help you ; but you wflll not let me.” 

There was genuine earnestness in her voice, 
and for a moment Viry’s face half softened. 
Then it hardened again. 

“ What could you do for me ? ” she demanded. 
“ What would you do ? Would you open the 
door of my prison-house, and let me come to the 
people with whom I belong? Would you do 
that ? ” she repeated, her eyes piercing Margaret’s. 

Margaret shook her head. “ I could not if I 
would,” she said. 

“ No. And you would not if you could. Tell 
me, is not that true, too ? ” 


THE MASTER-WORD 


227 


“ Viry, it is true ; it is perfectly true ; but 
listen to me, just for this once, for the sake of — 
for the sake of what I once hoped to do for you. 
Sit down again. Bring your stool here by the 
fire, and try to put your dislike of me away for 
a little if you can. Don’t think that it is I who 
am talking ; try to think only if what I say is 
true.” 

Viry pushed the stool before her to the fire, 
and sat down, half unwillingly. 

“ It is hard, always, to suffer,” Margaret went 
on, ‘‘and I think it is even harder to realize that 
any one else’s suffering can be quite so great as 
our own. The outside look of pain is so differ- 
ent from the inner experience of it that it is hard 
to understand that in another it is yet the same 
world-old anguish which we ourselves know so 
well. And yet none of our lives are without it ; 
it singles out no person alone. It is as universal 
as the air, and as necessary, and as good.” 

There was a pleading note in her voice which 
moved Viry against her will. She might have 
softened toward her had she not recalled the 
ease of this woman’s life, and how her words 
could only come from her lips, or at most from 
her brain — never from her heart. 

“ I think when a great sorrow is laid on one it 
is desperately hard to bear so long as one bears 
it alone, in an unrelated way. But if we can see 
that it makes for the highest things, not merely 
for ourselves — we may know that sorrow well 


THE MASTER-WORD 



borne always does that, and yet just for our own 
good be unwilling to pay the price; but if we 
see that it makes for the best things for others 
“ too ; that it is part of the law of life and love ; 
that our small life is caught up by the great 
laws that have worked through the ages ; that 
our sorrow is part, not merely of a great plan, 
but of the vital force that lifts the whole race of 
man — Viry, if you could see that your very 
suffering is the thing that makes possible for you 
a living oneness with the noblest life of all the 
ages, could you not bear it better then ? ” 

« How could it be ? ’’ asked Viry, wondering, 
and moved against her will. “ I don’t see,” she 
went on after a pause, and in a harder tone, 
« what vital force is served by the selfishness of 
a race which shuts the door in the face of a 
woman nine-tenths of whose blood is its own. 
What sense or reason is in that ? What high 
thing is served by such brute exercise of power ? ” 
<< The race must be kept pure,” said Margaret. 
« It has its work to do — the best work yet done 
by any race on earth ; and those who spring 
from it, and yet are tainted with something 
lower — for the world’s sake they must stand 
aside, and suffer. But suffering so for a sin that 
is not their own, they may yet suffer nobly, and 
be sure that through their sufferings, their loneli- 
ness, their separation from the life they long to 
share, they are doing their own high part in help- 
ing to work out the world’s best good. Oh, 


THE MASTEEr-WORD 



there are reasons ! ’’ she broke off, “ reasons 
without end ! But, Viry, there is something 
deeper than reason — there is instinct ; and back 
of instinct is God.” 

“ Instinct ! ” cried Viry, in scorn, the red blood 
burning in her face ; “ instinct against the union 
of white and black — and three million mulattoes 
to prove it ! Look at me, one mongrel of them 
all, and say that instinct is against it if you 
dare ! Look at me and say it ! ” 

Margaret shivered, and her eyes turned quickly 
to the fire. She drew her chair a little closer to 
it, reaching her hands out to the light blaze. 

“ There is certainly no animal instinct against 
it,” she said slowly, “ and our animal instincts 
are the oldest things we have. But when out of 
the animal God wrought a man, new instincts 
were already coming into play, instincts that 
were higher, better, and sure to rule unless 
men were to drop back into beasts again. I 
have thought about it a great deal, Viry. I am 
not learned nor wise ; but I have seen you, and 
others like you. I have been forced to think — 
to account for things I cannot deny. And I do 
it in this way. 

« The old animal instincts war with the new 
and higher ones. We see it on every hand. 
When a man allows his family to suffer hunger 
that he may go full-fed, we say he is a beast, and 
it is true. The old instinct to gratify hunger has 
overridden the later instinct of parental self- 


THE MASTER-WORD 



sacrifice, the beginnings of which are so plain in 
the higher beasts themselves. In sieges mothers 
have been known to eat their own children ; it 
was the triumph of the animal instinct to gratify 
hunger, far older than the instinct to die for one’s 
child. But is it fit to rule ? Is not the other 
instinct true, and best to follow, no matter how 
often it is overthrown ? ” 

Viry sat silent. 

'■^-ttRace instinct must have been the last one 
formed in us,” Margaret went on after a pause ; 
“it could hardly come until race consciousness 
grew up, and that comes late with every nation 
and race. When the negroes develop more of it 
it will be a help to us all. But that it is late in 
coming is no discredit to its truth ; nor the fact 
that the old instinct sometimes overcomes it any 
proof that it will not triumph in the end as it 
deserves to triumph. Do you not see, Viry, that 
you yourself are a double witness to the truth of 
what I say ? If your existence testifies to the 
strength of the old instinct, your hatred of the 
negroes is a proof of the inextinguishable power 
of the new.” 

‘Silence fell again, while Margaret waited. 

“ Viry,” she said presently, “ I have tried 
honestly to help you. Have I done anything that 
I wished ? ” 

“ No,” said the girl, deliberately, “ you have 
not. You are very clever, and you know how to 
put things. Some of them may be true : I don’t 


THE MASTER-WORD 


231 


know, and I don’t care. What I care about is my 
own life. What you said of sorrow sounded 
like — but you got it out of some book ! Or 
you tried — honestly, I will suppose — to imagine 
what ought to be said to a poor wretch like me — 
said by a great lady who has never suffered any- 
thing that love or money or position could cure, 
but who thinks it very beautiful that those who 
starve for a drop of her abundance should be 
duly thankful for their pangs.” 

« Viry ! ” exclaimed Margaret. 

“I suppose you think you are entitled to 
speak of suffering because you had a husband, 
and he died,” Viry went on with growing bitter- 
ness. “You forget that you had him, and that 
he worshipped you, as every one says ; that for 
all those years you drank the joy of life, that you 
had love at its best and fullest, that you can 
remember it always for the perfect thing it was ! 
And as if that were not enough, think of your 
children, your friends, your money, your whole 
long life without a care or a cross. No wonder 
you think sacrifice beautiful when somebody else 
must make it that your ease be not disturbed ! ” 

“ I said it was hard to believe in any pain but 
our own,” said Margaret, quietly. 

“ What pain have you felt ? ” asked Viry, 
fiercely. “ By what right do you speak to me ? 
Have you known shame or dishonor ? Has 
your love ever been thrust aside or ignored ? 
Have you laid your soul at a man’s feet that he 


232 


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might walk over it to another woman ? Answer 
me that ! ’’ 

She had risen, drawn up by the passion that 
had smouldered within her and now leaped into 
flame again. Margaret’s face was white. She, 
also, had risen, and the* two confronted one an- 
other. 

“ Never speak to me again of patience or suf- 
fering or self-sacrifice,” cried Viry, “you who 
play at all three, and wonder that I, too, do not 
And them sport! Unless — ” she checked herself 
and then went on, a flash leaping into her pale 
eyes, a deep red burning on her cheeks, “ unless 
there is a God of justice, as you say you believe, 
and some day he brings your pride to the dust! 
When you can come to me and tell me that you 
are a dishonored woman, that your most sacred 
love has been spurned, that your heart has bled 
its life out, drop by drop, for sins of which you 
are innocent ; that all that has come to you, and 
yet that you have risen above it all and have 
found peace in burying your own happiness, and 
joy in living for the great laws of the universe, 
then I may listen to you. When I see your 
healed wounds, I may believe in your cure ; strip 
yourself and try it, if ever you have them to 
show ! ” 

“ Go ! ” said Margaret, as she said it once be- 
fore. She raised her hand to lay it on Viry’s 
mouth and snatched it back in an agony of 
memory — the same hand ! Once more her face 


THE MASTER-WORD 


233 


was terrible to see, and Viry cowered before it. 
She pointed to the door and stood motionless, 
her power of speech consumed in the white 
fury of her wrath. Viry moved across the room 
slowly, mechanically, as if impelled by a force 
without her body, turning unconsciously as she 
did so, her wide eyes fastened on Margaret’s 
face. 

When the door closed behind her Margaret 
stood in her place conscious only of the fury that 
filled her. Presently she began to walk blindly 
up and down, her thoughts gathering fierce 
coherence. She had done all this for Philip’s 
sake, that he might be spotless at the last. Not 
only had she forgiven him — that was a light 
matter in the strength of her great love — but 
restored to her as he was, repentant, purified, 
there was yet the stain upon him of the broken 
law whose penalty could not be remitted, the 
unchecked consequence of the sin which he had 
committed, the lawless life which he had sent 
into the world. She had tried to save him from 
it; she had tried to turn the curse into a blessing, 
that he might have nothing to regret at last, that 
he might prove the depth of her love, and rejoice 
in it and her. She had never counted the cost, 
she had stopped at nothing, nothing ! She had 
brought the outcast to her own home, she had lav- 
ished upon her every possible help, she had borne 
to see her daily, to be kind to her, to suffer 
her daughter to befriend her — Philip’s negro 


e THE MASTER-WORD 

child ! She had done her best ; Philip would 
say it ; and this was her reward. The girl 
scorned all her sacrifice, and demanded as the 
price of her salvation a knowledge of the tragedy 
^of their married life. She had saved Philip’s 
/ honor at a cost no man might guess. Except 
herself, no living soul knew aught against him. 
She had borne with Viry all these years that 
God himself might say the blot was purged. 
And this bastard beggar must know of it, for- 
sooth, and probe old wounds, and decide if the 
dishonor were deep enough to be worth her con- 
sideration ; if the anguish matched her own, 
or topped it ; if a wife could suffer like a girl 
unwronged ! She drew sharp breaths between 
set teeth, her hands were clenched in the dark. 
Suddenly she stopped short in her wild pacing, 
as Bess’s voice called in the hall to know if she 
were coming down to dinner. 

The necessity of explaining quietly that she 
wished to remain in her room and to be left en- 
tirely alone calmed her somewhat, and helped her 
to regain her lost self-control. When she locked 
her door and returned to the fire her mind was 
clear and her course decided upon. Viry should 
leave the house. She had done her part, as Bruce 
had said, and the girl should go out of her life. 

She lit the gas, and sitting down at her desk 
wrote to the president of the college where Viry 
had been educated, asking him to find a place for 
her to teach as soon as he could. To the first 


THE MASTER-WORD 


235 


place found she should go, and thenceforth Mar- 
garet would wash her hands of her. Until that 
time she would avoid her presence and endure 
the knowledge of it in the house as best she 
could. 


0 


XVIII 


The fall deepened and brightened as the weeks 
went by. The year’s work of the fertile earth 
was finished, the harvest for which she had lav- 
ished herself was gathered and stored away, and 
through the short, bright days she seemed to 
wait, in the consciousness of work well done, for 
the peace of the coming sleep and the joy of the 
wakening beyond it. For this brief time between 
work and rest, the crown of all the year, the 
beauty of all the seasons seemed pressed into 
one. The spring flowers burst into bloom again, 
unfolding their bright blossoms as serenely after 
summer’s heat as after winter’s cold. In the 
delicious warmth of mid-day and the soft haze 
about the hills, lay an afterglow of the summer’s 
radiance, while the roses were the most beautiful 
of all the year ; while the bare twigs beginning 
to show here and there through the thinning foli- 
age of the trees proclaimed the beauty and the 
promise of sleeping life. 

Viry was dimly conscious of the peace and 
triumph about her as she went daily through the 
fields to the little schoolhouse with a sore an(|| 
bitter heart. But the thing she saw most clearly 
was the long struggle of the year and its endur- 
236 


THE MASTER-WORD 


237 


ance before this peace was gained. The price paid 
seemed to her a cruel one, and greater than the 
peace was worth. She looked with pity on the 
bare wheat-field, stripped of its hard-won harvest, 
with only dead stubble left for its reward. They 
had not even given it the comfort of fresh work 
to do ; it was to be gashed and hacked and torn 
out of all semblance of its fertile self, and the 
long kilns were to rise there, poisoning whatever 
life might stir between the gaping wounds. Day 
after day she went over the little foot-path, past 
the wheat-field, through the grove of trees in the 
still valley beyond, and up the hill to the school- 
house, reading her own thoughts, as we all do, 
into nature’s face, which answers back all moods 
of every mind. 

The conviction which grew upon her was that 
whatever the outcome of her life might be, the 
price of it was beyond her strength or will to 
pay. She lived in a cruel tension, for Margaret, 
absorbed in her own bitter sense of failure, and 
angered past endurance by the girl’s insolence, 
had shut her out from her presence since that 
night. The president of the college had an- 
swered her letter promptly, but he knew of no 
vacancy for Viry. All the schools were supplied 
before the openings, and it was too soon for any 
vacancy to have occurred. After Christmas there 
would doubtless be a few changes, and he thought 
he could find a suitable opening for the second 
term j for the present he could do nothing. 


238 


THE MASTER-WORD 


Until she could tell the girl to go, Margaret 
could not bring herself to speak with her ; and 
in her own bitterness she quite lost sight of the 
hardness of the uncertainty in which Viry’s days 
were passed. That something must happen she 
knew, and she waited for it with alert and tor- 
tured expectation ; but as the days and weeks 
dragged by, the acute suffering of the long strain 
was dulled, and the uncertainty merely added to 
the load of misery against which her mind was 
hardening to rebellion. 

Meanwhile the election was close at hand, and 
Dick’s persistent effort had so far influenced 
some of the negroes that the sheriff was forced 
to take notice of it, and to make an unusual 
effort to counteract it. In his present struggle 
he was backed by the powerful liquor interests, 
both within and without the state, whose thriv- 
ing trade was threatened, so that there was a 
bank-account to draw upon far larger than local 
politics could have placed at his disposal ; and 
after long thought and consultation it was de- 
cided that on the Saturday preceding the elec- 
tion the negroes should be given a barbecue in 
Wesson’s grove, halfway between the village 
and the Lawton place. Food for two thousand 
men was to be furnished, and liquor without 
stint. The preparations went forward swiftly 
and secretly, and the negroes themselves were 
not apprised of the feast until the last moment. 
The matter was kept so quiet, indeed, that Dick, 


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239 


who left home the Tuesday before to make ship- 
ping arrangements at several ports, knew nothing 
of it ; and Bruce, even on the day appointed, 
heard of it only vaguely as to be held somewhere 
in the county, and had no idea of the scale on 
which it was planned. 

Dick was to return on Saturday night, in 
order to be on hand in plenty of time for the 
election on Tuesday ; and on Saturday morning 
Bruce, having business in Fulton, drove over to 
spend the day there and to bring Dick home in 
the evening. He went at a brisk pace, his horse 
sharing his enjoyment of the crisp, bright air, 
and reached Fulton before nine o’clock. He 
went at once to the livery stable where he 
always left his horse, and nodded to the darky 
who came forward touching his cap. 

Half a dozen men, black and white, were 
lounging about, and among them Bolles, the 
sheriff’s right-hand man, who kept the only bar 
in the village where a white man sold drinks to 
negroes. The man was notoriously corrupt from 
every point of view, and though Bruce, like many 
of his friends, might speak to the sheriff, he had 
never yet condescended to speak to Hiram Bolles. 
He recognized him at once, wondering carelessly 
what deviltry had brought the fellow to Fulton 
so early in the morning; but Bolles lifted his 
hat and stepped forward. 

“ Homin’, Mr. Carleton,” he remarked with an 
ingratiating air, “fine bracin’ weather for drivin’.” 


240 


THE MASTEE^WORD 


Bruce stared at him for a second and then 
deliberately turned his back, while the negroes 
tittered. 

“ Bring my horse to the hotel this evening in 
time for the six-thirty train from Birmingham, 
Pete,” he said to the man who had first come 
forward. ‘‘ Be sharp on time.” 

“ Yassir,” said Pete, fumbling his cap again. 
« Enny er de fokes ’erway, Marse Bruce ? ” 

“ Mr. Lawton is coming back,” said Bruce ; 

Pm to meet him and drive him home.” 

He walked off rapidly down the street, and 
Bolles watched him with an evil look. He had 
several scores against Bruce Carleton, and not a 
few against Dick Lawton, too. Some day he 
meant to pay them off. 

By twelve o’clock he was in Wesson’s grove, 
and the negroes were coming in by scores and fif- 
ties. By two o’clock, the hour appointed for the 
barbecue, the big grove swarmed with them, a 
jostling, laughing, good-natured crowd, ready for 
anything that might turn up. The sheriff was 
on hand, too, a prince of good fellows, his genial 
manner tempered with just enough loftiness to 
remind the negroes of the honor bestowed upon 
them in being allowed to hobnob as equals with 
a white man. The barbecue was a grand success. 

When the last mouthful of meat had disap- 
peared the drinking began, and the sheriff, al- 
ready surfeited with the company of his black 
brothers, nudged Bolles privately. 


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241 


“ IVe got to meet some o’ the liquor men in 
Fulton at four o’clock, an’ I’m goin’ to be late 
now,” he said. “ Shut off on this gang before 
they get too drunk to walk home. Keep ’em in 
a good humor an’ break ’em into batches when 
they start to go. Don’t let ’em make any 
trouble.” 

“ Trust me,” said Bolles, easily ; “ I’ll manage 
’em.” 

The sheriff rode off, a trifle anxious, it must 
be confessed, for with many of the men already 
half drunk the crowd threatened to become a 
mob with dangerous possibilities. Fortunately 
they were all in a good humor and likely to 
remain so ; still, he turned his horse and rode 
back to Bolles. 

Look-a-here, Bolles,” he said sharply, under 
his breath, “ I’ll hold you responsible for these 
niggers. Do you understand ? I’ll have no 
monkeying. If they do any damage, by the Lord 
I’ll turn against you and throw the whole thing 
on your shoulders, and split on your past record 
besides. There are just one or two things that 
even I can’t afford to be connected with if I’m 
goin’ to make my way in this part of the world. 
I know you can manage ’em, and you’ve got it 
to do. I ain’t goin’ to take an excuse. Do you 
hear ? ” 

« I hear you,” said Bolles, sullenly. “ What the 
devil’s the matter with you ? ” 

Martin rode off without answering, nodding 


242 


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genially to the negroes as he passed them. Bolles 
watched him out of sight, and then turned to 
the men who were distributing the beer and 
whiskey among the crowd. He was in a rage, 
for the sheriff had spoiled his plan. He had 
known of the meeting in Fulton, and that the 
mob of negroes would be left for him to disperse, 
and it had suddenly occurred to him that morn- 
ing, when he learned that Mr. Lawton and Mr. 
Carleton would both be safely out of his way until 
night, that this would be an excellent opportunity 
for his revenge on both of them. There would be 
no white man around to bear witness to what 
was said, and the negroes would be too fuddled- 
to remember. In their condition it would be 
easy to inflame their avarice and every evil thing 
within them, to set them on the Lawton place 
to sack it and wreck the works, and to deal with 
the women as they would. For his own safety, 
he could lurk about until all his will was accom- 
plished, and then make a bold, and of course use- 
less, attempt at rescue. Nothing could be simpler, 
and he had been working out the details in his 
mind all day. But now he dared not stir. He 
could not fool the sheriff ; and if his past record 
were to be shown up — at the mere thought the 
blood forsook his face, leaving it gray under its 
mottled purple. 

He went about the grounds, speaking a word 
here and there, ordering fresh supplies of beer, 
the tide of baffled vengeance rising all the while 


THE MASTER-WORD 


243 


against the barrier which held it back. Sud- 
denly a thought struck him, and his face half 
cleared ; if he could not do the things he would, 
why not pretend to do them ? He could give 
those proud Lawton women a scare they wouldn’t 
get over in half a lifetime, and cut the comb of 
the men’s arrogance in a way to make them re- 
member and fear him. He chuckled at the 
thought. He had no fear of the negroes getting 
beyond his control. Drunk or sober they were 
afraid of him, and the great majority of them 
were merely melted by liquor into a more than 
ordinarily good humor. If he managed well, there 
was no real danger ; but nobody at the Lawton 
place would know it. He began to move among 
the men with new energy, dropping a word to 
one group and another, until they were all afire 
with enthusiasm over the idea of celebrating the 
sheriff’s coming victory on Mrs. Lawton’s lawn. 
The whole thing was a huge, daredevil joke 
which just suited their drunken mood. 

Holies selected a number of the more sober 
ones as his lieutenants, and marshalled the wild 
horde into a fantastic procession. There had 
been at the barbecue some negro women of the 
baser sort, fifty or sixty of them, and these were 
scattered down the line on either side at intervals, 
while the men marched in the centre, six or eight 
abreast. Holies himself headed the line. He 
meant to tell the sheriff that most of the men 
would go in spite of him, and that, finding it 


244 


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impossible to turn them from their purpose, he 
had thought it safer to go with them, taking the 
more sober men along, and endeavoring to restrain 
the others from any real mischief, as the sheriff 
could see he had succeeded in doing. He im- 
pressed this view of matters on the befuddled 
negroes themselves, so that, even when they had 
grown sober, the impression remained with them 
that Bolles had gone under protest. 

Margaret and Bess were in the sitting room, 
Bess at the piano, and her mother, her book 
dropped for the moment in her lap, looking out 
at the long shadows falling across the lawn, and 
calculating the time until Dick’s arrival, when a 
hoarse sound, muffled by distance, fell upon their 
ears. 

“ What on earth is that ? ” exclaimed Bess, 
lifting her hands from the keys. “ Do you 
suppose any of the machinery at the sheds has 
broken loose ? ” 

The sound came again. Bess went to one of 
the windows and raised it. They listened in 
wonder to the dull roar as it drew nearer, until 
slowly separate tones detached themselves from 
the volume of sound and rose distinct upon the 
air in hoarse shouts and cries, behind and under 
which the great roar deepened and swelled, so 
that they mounted with an awful threat. 

« What is it, mother ? ” asked Bess, the pallor 
of her face deadening to a ghastlier hue as she 
saw the horror in Margaret’s, “ Oh, look ! ” she 


THE MASTER-WORD 


245 


cried, turning back to the window at the sound 
of a savage yell. 

The negroes had reached the great gate at the 
end of the avenue, and a few of them could be 
plainly seen passing through it, while behind 
them, through the trees, the two women caught 
glimpses of a dark mass, above which tossed the 
banners which had graced the grove at the bar- 
becue, bearing legends in honor of the sheriff and 
free liquor. 

Even as she saw, Margaret was fastening the 
heavy blinds and closing the window, while Bess 
sprang to the next one to close it. As she reached 
it she saw Viry in the hall, with Parralee, the 
butler, and two of the maids behind her, their 
faces ashen under the dark skin. 

« Quick !” she cried, fastening her own window ; 
“Molly and Jordan, take the other side of the 
house. The door, Viry ! Parralee, the kitchen 
and back doors ! Janie, the front windows 
upstairs ! ” 

With a clear head to command them they 
shook off their cowering helplessness, and, with 
feet winged by fear, flew to their allotted tasks. 
Viry was as cool as Bess herself. As if by magic 
the great house withdrew itself from the 'outer 
day, and by the time the head of the mob had 
reached the flower-bordered walks about the 
house, it stood among the old trees closed and 
dark, like a deserted thing. 

The little group gathered in an upper room, 


246 


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where the butler and the maids cowered down 
in a corner, their teeth chattering with fear. 
Viry stood at one of the windows, peering through 
the blinds, with Parralee beside her. At another 
stood Margaret and Bess, each clasping the other’s 
hand. On the table at Margaret’s elbow she had 
placed the two pistols which the house contained, 
and which both she and Bess could use with 
deadly effect. 

The crowd had spread out over the lawn, 
trampling the flower-beds out of all semblance 
of beauty, and now stood there, a rocking mass, 
rending the air with ribald jests and songs. The 
womeh had forced their way to the front, and 
in a little space which they managed to clear 
about the steps half a dozen of them began to 
turn handsprings like boys, their ragged gar- 
ments fluttering in all directions, while the men 
roared and clapped their hands and waved the 
banners to and fro. 

The negroes shouted until they were tired, 
and sang until the last indecency in their reper- 
tory was exhausted, and still the old house gave 
no sign of life. Bolles grew uneasy. It was 
quite possible that the two women had gone 
out to spend the day, the men being away, and 
that the silent building held only a handful of 
frightened servants. He wanted to know that 
the insult had found its mark. He was far 
from drunk, but he had swallowed whiskey 
enough to keep his insolence at boiling-point. 


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247 


He came out from the dense black crowd and 
walked boldly up the front steps to the door, 
kicking it violently with his heavy boot. 

Margaret’s face had quickly regained some- 
thing of its ordinary color. She saw that the 
present temper of the negroes was toward words 
rather than deeds, and that it would be quite pos- 
sible to control them. She guessed that the one 
white man in the crowd, whom she knew by sight, 
had too much regard for his own skin to allow 
the demonstration to go beyond a certain point, 
provided he could remain in control : he merely 
meant to insult them. She was a brave woman, 
and a lesser thing would have stirred the Davison 
blood. When Bolles began to kick the door she 
turned instantly and went into the hall. 

Bess said nothing, but caught up the two 
pistols. Giving one to Viry, she took the girl’s 
hand in hers, and together they went down the 
steps after Margaret. Parralee, after an instant’s 
hesitation, followed them, while the other three 
hung over the banisters in deadly fear. 

The kicking at the door grew more violent, 
until the sound was suddenly broken in two 
by Margaret’s flinging the door wide. Bolles 
recovered his balance with an effort and re- 
placed his foot upon the floor. The negroes 
nearest the porch broke into appreciative laugh- 
ter, which was echoed by those behind who had 
seen nothing. 

Bolles’s jaw dropped when he saw Margaret. 


248 


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She was not at all in the terror-stricken state he 
had imagined ; the color in her cheeks was brill- 
iant, and her eyes were scarcely pleasant to face. 
She stood quite close to him, looking through 
him, her head raised, her whole presence breath- 
ing scorn. She did not speak, but continued to 
look at a point apparently just behind Mr. 
Bolles’s head. 

« Good evenin’, Mrs. Lawton,” he stammered, 
his hand going involuntarily to his hat. 

« What do you want ? ” asked Margaret. 

The negroes had all seen her by this time, and 
hushed one another to hear what she said. There 
was scarcely one of them who had not heard 
some story of her kindness to members of their 
race, and several had had personal experience of 
it. All of them knew that she had been read 
out” in both the colored churches of the village 
as a friend of the negroes. They stared in 
admiration at her beauty, and took a genuine 
pleasure in her pride ; she was real “ quality, 
fo’ sho’.” Bolles cut but a sorry figure, and 
they grinned to see. 

“ What do you want ? ” she repeated. 

“I want a drink o’ water,” said Bolles, call- 
ing up all reserves of swaggering insolence ; « I 
reckon I’ll come in an’ get it.” 

Margaret stood just in the doorway, and as he 
moved forward to push past her, Bess stepped 
to her mother’s side, a dangerous light in her 
dark eyes. She raised her pistol a little and 


THE MASTER-WORD 



cocked it, softly but distinctly. Bolles stopped. 
As he stood irresolute, Margaret stepped past 
him suddenly and came to the edge of the porch. 

The crowd waited, breathless. Before her 
face the negro passion for beauty, ignorant but 
mighty, stirred, drawing them dimly upward, 
while her eyes, quiet now, but commanding, 
searched those of the crowd. Her look held 
unconsciously the fearlessness, the sense of domi- 
nance, of security of power, of a race long used 
to mastery ; and, as unconsciously, the men long 
born to obedience acknowledged its right to rule. 
An uneasy shifting grew among them. Eyes and 
heads began to turn back toward the avenue and 
the great gate, and again toward Margaret’s face. 

The women had moved first, but only to draw 
nearer to the woman on the porch above them. 
They huddled together, looking up, their heavy 
faces working with a new emotion which was 
fast rising to the point where expression of some 
kind was inevitable. Margaret saw both the 
danger and the hope. She stood by one of the 
great pillars, gazing down on them, her face 
paling a little, her calm and steady look melt- 
ing slowly to one of utter compassion, when 
suddenly from the squalid group there soared a 
voice, as high and clear as though it sprang from 
the throat of a seraph at heaven’s gate. The 
first note cut the tension like a sword. A great 
gasp went through the crowd, and a thousand 
voices caught up the song, until the wild melody 


250 


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rolled out on tlie darkening air, freighted with 
the inarticulate longings of a race. 

Verse after verse the song rose and swelled. 
The crowd began to sway and shift. Here and 
there, imperceptibly at first, one and another 
turned toward the road — the road which led 
toward home. Margaret’s eyes were still on 
the women, and even as they moved away they 
turned to look back at the quiet kindness of her 
face. They moved together toward the avenue, 
singing as they went, and the men swung into 
place behind them, following slowly but steadily, 
until at last their voices died on the still evening 
air. 

As the throng poured down the avenue, 
Margaret turned to the gaping Bolles. 

“ My son and Mr. Carleton will soon be here,” 
she said ; “ for the sake of your own safety, do 
not meet them.” 

Before he could answer she had stepped past 
him once again, and the great door closed behind 
her. 


XIX 


Once more Margaret and Bess were in the 
sitting room. The shades were closely drawn 
and the lights within were bright. It was 
time for Dick and Bruce to come, and though 
neither of them would hint it to the other, 
they were both afraid that Bolles had laid some 
ambush for them, and that they were even now 
in mortal danger. They themselves were far 
from feeling the security they affected, each for 
the other’s sake ; their nerves were more than 
shaken, and it was difficult not to start at the 
sound of a dead leaf blown sharply across the 
porch. 

“We won’t say a word about it until they’ve 
had their dinner in peace,” said Bess. 

“ It will be better not to speak of it until 
morning,” said her mother ; “ I can’t trust those 
boys out to-night.” 

“Yes,” assented Bess, “that will be much 
better.” 

Out in the kitchen conversation ran riot. 
Parralee and the maids were so absorbed in 
rehearsing the tale of their own emotions, all 
three speaking at once and in utter disregard of 
the rest, that Jordan found himself without the 
251 


252 


THE MASTER-WORD 


audience which his dignity required. He con- 
ceived the happy idea of breaking the news to 
the two young men on their arrival, and for that 
purpose slipped out at the door and went round 
the house, trembling at every sound. He waited 
on the front steps until he heard the long double 
whistle at the big gate with which both Dick 
and Bruce always announced their arrival after 
dark; then he ran down the avenue. Within 
the house Margaret and Bess sprang up and sat 
down again, trying to look as natural as pos- 
sible. 

Meanwhile Jordan met the buggy. 

« Fer de Lawd’s sake, is dat you, Marse Dick 
en Marse Bruce ? ” he panted. “ Is you dead ? ” 

“ What on earth — ” began Bruce, but Jordan 
interrupted him. 

“Lawd, Marse Bruce, you dunno w’at’s hap- 
pened,” he exclaimed, swelling with importance. 
“We done had a nigger riot dis evenin’, right 
out yere on Miss Marg’ret’s flower-beds, en Miss 
Marg’ret en Miss Bess — ” He stopped, open- 
mouthed, for Dick had cut the horse sharply, 
and was already almost at the house. He 
turned and followed sadly. 

The two men sprang out and rushed up the 
steps. Margaret and Bess rose in astonishment 
as they burst white-faced into the room. For a 
moment no one spoke ; the reaction of relief was 
too great for them, and the women were too 
amazed at the terror upon their faces. 


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253 


“ Thank God ! ” said Dick, fervently. He 
leaned on the table, breathing heavily. 

‘‘What did that fool Jordan mean about a 
riot ? ” demanded Bruce, speaking angrily in his 
excitement. “ What has happened ? ” 

“ Jordan ! ” exclaimed Margaret. “ Where did 
you see him ? ” 

“ He met us down by the gate and said there 
had been a negro riot here on the lawn,” said 
Bruce. “ Good God ! ” he gasped brokenly, 
dropping into a chair. 

“ I call it a one-white-man riot, myself,” said 
Bess, indignantly. “ Oh, if you two could have 
seen my mother ! I feel seven feet high when- 
ever I think about it ! Diccon, you missed it, 
and you never will know how perfectly grand 
mother can be ! ” 

“ What was it ? ” demanded both of them, 
turning to Margaret. 

Margaret told the story just as it occurred, 
while Bess spiced the tale with interpolations of 
her own. She was in high spirits now that the 
men were at home, and seized upon whatever 
aspect of the situation could be twisted into a 
joke. For once Bruce and Dick paid little heed 
to her. They sat listening to Margaret, asking 
few questions and making no comments, their 
faces setting in rigid lines. When she finished 
they both rose. 

“You must stay here until I can bring Eben- 
eezer to protect the house,” said Dick, as if the 


254 


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further programme were already arranged. « June 
is at home, and I’ll get the whole family. Are 
there any men at the quarters to be trusted ? ” 

“Some. I’ll send Jordan down to Jim while 
you’re gone ; he’ll get them together and bring 
them up.” 

“You’d better telephone several of the fellows 
in the village to meet us just outside of town,” 
said Dick, pausing a moment in the hall. “ I 
wouldn’t call anybody who lives in the country ; 
they may be needed to protect their own homes. 
There’s no telling what the scoundrel will do.” 

The two women listened to this rapid conver- 
sation with paling faces. “ Dick,” said his 
mother, “ what do you intend to do ? ” 

“ To put Holies where he can’t insult my 
mother and sister,” said Dick, grimly. 

“ But, my son,” she began, and stopped, half 
choked. “You can’t intend any violence,” she 
implored. 

“ I’ll not do anything to make you ashamed 
of me, mother,” he answered ; “ don’t be afraid 
of that.” 

Margaret’s eyes shone, but her face was still 
anxious. “ But what will you do, dear ? And 
suppose the others — ” 

“The others will do as I say, or they’ll go 
home,” said Dick, briefly. “ The only reason I 
want them is because Holies may still be in that 
crowd of negroes, and if he is it will take several 
of us if we’re to get him off without a fight. I’m 


THE MASTER-WORD 


255 


going to run liim out of town ; and if he ever 
shows his face here again, I’ll — ” 

« No, by heaven. I’ll do it ! ” cried Bruce. « I’ll 
stand by you to-night, Dick, but if ever he dares 
to come back, he’s my meat ! ” 

He’ll never come, so we won’t dispute about 
it,” said Dick, already at the back hall door. 
He went to the barn, mounted his horse bare- 
backed, and galloped off across the fields. In 
the shortest possible time he was back with 
Ebeneezer’s entire family — himself, his wife, 
and the three sons. They were armed with an 
old horse-pistol, a relic of “ ole Marse Dick Davi- 
son’s ” army days, a shot-gun, and an old-fashioned 
rifle. Jim’s cohorts were already in the kitchen. 

Bess was now in the wildest spirits. « Oh, I 
wish I were a man ! ” she cried. ‘‘ Diccon, dear, 
won’t you lend me some old clothes and take me 
with you ? I’ll keep in the dark, and I won’t 
open my mouth ; nobody’ll know ; please.” 

Ebeneezer grinned admiringly. 

“ I think you’d better stay here and protect 
mother,” said Dick, smiling. “Uncle Eb will 
need you. If they should come back. Uncle Eb, 
you’ll have to fasten her up somewhere ; she’d 
charge the whole outflt with a hat-pin as soon as 
not.” 

“ If she charge ’em, she shore rout ’em, Marse 
Dick,” chuckled Ebeneezer; “ever since Miss 
Bess was knee-high to a duck, whatever she set 
out to do she do.” 


256 


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Bess swept him a courtesy. “Thank you, 
Uncle Eb ! ” she exclaimed. “ Go along, Diccon ; 
if you’re going to be horrid and selfish and keep 
all your fun to yourself, just let Uncle Eb and me 
alone ; we can paddle our own canoe.” 

After a few final directions the two men went 
out, and Bess ran upstairs to bring Viry down to 
the sitting room. 

“ You can’t stay up there in the dark all by 
yourself,” she protested ; “ it’s no time for any- 
body to play owl ! We’ll make Parralee cook a 
feast for the darkies, and we’ll pop corn and 
roast chestnuts and tell ghost stories in the sit- 
ting room, as if we were children again.” 

“ Aren’t you afraid ? ” asked Viry. 

“ Afraid of what, I’d like to know ? ” 

“ Of something happening to Mr. Dick or Mr. 
Bruce ? ” 

“ Nonsense, Viry ! Why, I’m ashamed of you ! 
If mother could scat that whole crowd, do you 
think Dick and Bruce can’t manage one white 
coward ? Come along.” 

She kept the whole household in stir and 
laughter, determined to give her mother as little 
time to think as possible, though when at last the 
long double whistle sounded at the gate again 
the strain was beginning to tell on her, and she 
was as thankful as Margaret herself that the 
trying time was over. 

Dick and Bruce, meanwhile, had galloped on 
with few words. They arranged their plan of 


THE MASTER-WORD 


257 


action as briefly as possible, and then rode on in 
silence. Half a mile from the village a band of 
six or eight horsemen moved softly out of the 
shadows. Bruce had purposely told them as 
little as possible, requesting them to be at this 
appointed place, armed, and on urgent business, 
adding to one or two the further request that 
before coming they should learn the whereabouts 
of Hiram Bolles. These now reported him in 
his own bar-room, as he was usually at that 
hour. There were a great many negroes about, 
but nothing unusual seemed to be on foot : what 
was the matter ? 

Dick told them briefly. 

“ It won’t take long to settle him,” said one of 
the younger men ; “ did you bring a rope ? ” 

“ I don’t want a rope. There’s to be no 
lynching, nor talk of one.” 

“What in thunder did you call us out for, 
then ? ” 

“ I’m going to put him on the night train for 
Nashville or Birmingham, as he prefers. I shall 
tell him if he ever shows his face here again he’ll 
be shot on sight, like a mad dog. I asked you 
fellows because I thought if there were many 
negroes it would save trouble to have a crowd ; 
but Carleton and I will attend to Bolles. Half 
of you guard the entrance of his saloon and the 
other half the rear : we’ll go in and get him.” 

“ Well, if he’d been to my house like that — ” 
began the same indignant voice. 


258 


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Oh, dry up, Billy,” said another. “ Lawton’s 
exactly right. If you don’t like it, you can go 
home. Sail ahead, Dick ; we’re with you.” 

The little party moved on and went straight to 
the saloon. A group of negroes who filled the 
sidewalk stared open-mouthed as the cavalcade 
drew up, and then vanished in the darkness. 
The men mounted guard at the two doors while 
Dick and Bruce entered the saloon. Bolles was 
behind the counter, his back turned toward them. 
The room was filled with negroes. Dick sprang 
up on a chair, rapping the butt of his whip 
sharply against the stovepipe which ran over 
his head. Silence fell instantly. Bolles turned, 
a yellowish pallor overspreading his face. His 
hand went to his hip pocket. 

« Drop that ! ” said Bruce, covering him with 
his pistol. Hands up ! ” Bolles held them up. 

« You men get out and go home,” Dick was 
saying. “You’ll find armed men at both doors, 
but if you go quietly, they won’t hurt you.” 

The room was empty before he finished speak- 
ing. He turned to Bolles. 

“ Come out here in the middle of the room,” he 
commanded. Bolles came, and Dick searched 
him, taking from him a pistol and a knife. 

“Now put your hands down, and hear what 
you’re going to do. You will take the through 
train to-night at Fulton, north or south, as you 
prefer. You can write back for Martin, or some 
of your friends, to wind up your affairs for you 


THE MASTER-WORD 


259 


here, for if you come back to do it yourself you’ll 
be a dead man inside of an hour after.” He 
cocked his pistol and covered the trembling man. 

“ Bruce,” he went on, “ get the money out of 
the till for him. — If you want anything out of 
your safe, tell Mr. Carleton how to open it and 
he’ll get it for you.” 

Bolles gave him the combination, and pocketed 
the safe’s contents with evident relief. He was 
sure now that he was not to be killed, and he 
began to bluster a little. 

“ I’ll have the law on you for this outrage,” he 
began. Bruce gave him a look which set his 
teeth chattering. 

“ You open your head again and I’ll knock it 
off,” he said fiercely. “ And whatever villany 
you take up next time, I’d advise you to try 
something different from setting negroes on to 
insult women. Some of the crowd outside are 
itching to lynch you now, and you may not be 
lucky enough next time to have Mr. Lawton 
along to protect you.” 

Bolles gave Dick a sudden look of gratitude 
which was by no means to that gentleman’s 
taste. “ March ! ” he said briefly. 

“ Can’t I go upstairs an’ get some clothes ? ” 
he whined. 

Bruce frowned impatiently, but Dick assented. 

“Wait till I go up and light the gas then,” 
said Bruce. “ Bring him along ! ” he called in a 
moment. “ Five minutes now, and no more.” 


260 


THE MASTERr-WORD 


Holies gathered a few necessities in shaking 
haste, and the two escorted him down the stairs 
and out on the street, where they held a short 
consultation. 

“You’d better go home, Dick,” said Bruce; 
“ Aunt Margaret has been through with too 
much already, and she’ll be miserable till some- 
body comes back. Morton will help me take 
Holies to Fulton ; we won’t need any one else.” 

“ If we can get a horse — ” began Dick. 

“ It won’t hurt Mr. Holies to walk,” said 
Bruce, calmly. “ Some of you fellows get a rope. 
Nobody’s going to hurt you, you coward,” he 
went on, feeling the man shake under his grip. 

The rope was procured and Holies taken back 
into the saloon, where his legs were so fastened 
that running would be impossible, his arms 
bound to his sides, and an end of rope left on 
either side long enough for his two captors to 
hold. His valise, a small one, was strapped to 
his back, and the three set out at a slow pace 
for Fulton, while the rest of the party scattered 
to their homes. 

At the station Mr. Holies elected to board the 
north-bound train, which would be the first to 
arrive; but finding that it was delayed by a 
wreck he hastily reversed his decision and bought 
a ticket south. Bruce and Morton guarded him 
in a grim silence which was almost more than 
his coward nerves could bear. They had taken 
the ropes off at the station, leaving them on the 


THE MASTER-WORD 


261 


platform where they fell ; and every time Bruce’s 
eye or Morton’s wandered toward the door he 
felt a noose about his neck. When the train 
whistled at last his face was ashen and old, and 
he trembled as he walked. The two men rose 
without a word and walked on either side of 
him to the steps of the car. As he reached the 
platform he turned upon them a look of malig- 
nant rage. Bruce lifted his pistol thoughtfully, 
holding it in plain sight until the train carried 
him beyond their view. 

“ It’s surely rough on Alabama, Morton,” he 
said, as they returned to their horses, “but I 
think the air of old Jeness will be considerably 
improved. Now for a quick gallop back, old 
man ; I’m in a hurry to get home and go forag- 
ing, for I haven’t had a bite since noon.” 


XX 


“ So you’re a convert to the plan of making 
the negroes vote against Martin, Dick,” said 
Bruce at luncheon the day before the election. 

“ They sha’n’t vote for that gang and work in 
these mines,” said Dick. 

« Exactly. Well, suppose you come down to 
the office this afternoon and tell them so your- 
self. I’ll be there, but they may as well get it 
straight from you.” 

“ All right ; I’ll be on hand.” 

The big bell was rung half an hour before ‘the 
usual time for quitting work, and the men gath- 
ered at the signal, wondering what was the mat- 
ter, and surprised to see Dick as well as Bruce 
on the office porch. When the last gang had 
arrived Dick stepped forward. 

« We’ve been talking over this election long 
enough for every one to have made up his mind,” 
he said ; “ and I want to know how you will 
vote. I want every man who intends to vote 
against Martin’s plan of opening saloons in the 
county to go to the other end of the porch.” 

A number of men stepped out at once, and he 
counted them as they went — fifty-seven in all. 
He knew that most of them had been decided 
262 


THE MASTER-WORD 



by an appeal to the religious aspects of the 
liquor question, and that it was largely a matter 
of emotion with them rather than of civic prin- 
ciple ; nevertheless he was well pleased. 

“ That’s a bit ahead of the eleven fellows who 
rattled around in the wagon last year,” he said, 
smiling. “ If we keep on hammering, and live 
long enough, some day it will be the little crowd 
at this end of the porch, and the big one over 
yonder where the fifty-seven are. Anyway, we’ll 
try it.” 

Appreciative chuckles came from the fifty- 
seven, while in the larger group were embar- 
rassed grins and much shuffling of feet. Dick 
turned squarely to them, a gleam in his gray 
eyes. 

« Now, you men who want to vote for lawless- 
ness and disorder, for the kind of men who 
risked all riot and shamefulness right here on 
this place two days ago, listen to me. Martin 
opened this liquor question to tighten his hold 
on you negroes. He has stopped skinning you 
because Mr. Carleton has frightened him off ; but 
you know what he did till he was stopped, and 
that to this day he fleeces every negro he dares 
to lay his hands on ; and yet you want to give 
him added power. I have nothing to say against 
it. This is a free country, where a man may 
make a fool or a coward of himself if he chooses. 
But for my part, I shall do what I can to pro- 
tect my mother and sister, and every one else in 


THE MASTER-WORD 


3 ^ 

the county, from Martin’s misrule. You must 
choose between him and me, for I’ll give no 
support to anybody who upholds him. Those 
of you who intend to vote for liquor can get 
your pay to-morrow morning before you go to 
the polls ; and you must be off this place with 
all your belongings before sundown to-morrow 
night. If any of you are here after dark you 
will be arrested for trespass. I will close these 
mines forever and a day before they shall harbor 
men who support outrage and corruption and 
theft. At six o’clock the wagons will be here 
as they were last year, and I will call the roll 
and see who goes in them. No one who does 
not go will be molested ; but it will be under- 
stood that they expect to vote for Martin, and 
they are to be off this place for good and all by 
sundown. Think it over and decide. That’s 
all I have to say. Come, Bruce.” 

The two turned and walked away, leaving 
behind them a dead silence in which the men 
looked at one another in dismay. Those in the 
smaller group walked back to their fellows and 
broke into chaffing or remonstrant speech. 

“ Whar you gwine move ter, say ? ” — “ Who 
gwine give yer two dollars er day, Sam Po’ter ? ” 
— “ Lawd, Mose, yo’ ole ’ooman’ll lay it in fer 
you, sho’ ! She know she ain’ gwine find ary 
’nother Miss Marg’ret.” — “ Is de sheriff gwine ter 
open er mine en give you all wages like you gits 
yere?” — “De camps is layin’ off men stidder 


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265 


takin’ ’em on, en winter en de rains e’en-erbout 
cornin’ : whar you gwine ? ” 

“Ole ’ooman en de chilluns kin sleep in de 
bresh termorrer night,” said one wit ; “ hit ain’t 
much cole yit, en dar’s a new moon. Hit’s reel 
purty outdo’s.” 

A general laugh followed this sally, and the 
men began to move away, breaking into smaller 
groups as they neared the quarters. Arrived 
there, the women-folk took the matter in hand, 
and Mose was not the only head of a household 
who heard the riot act read that night. In the 
morning the wagons were waiting, and also the 
men to fill them. With the exception of Sim- 
mons, the white men, too, were on hand, though 
their presence was not required. Dick went 
with them to the polls, and saw that the last 
ballot was properly cast. About noon he tele- 
phoned Hayne. 

“ How many votes did you get by moral sua- 
sion, old man ? ” 

“ Thirty,” said Hayne, rather ruefully. 

Dick laughed. “You wouldn’t have done so 
well if it had been a purely political election,” 
he said ; “ but it’s not so bad after all, and next 
year we’ll pick fiint and try again.” 

“ How did you come out yourself ? ” asked 
Hayne. 

“ Oh, we got them all, of course ; but it won’t 
do any good. Martin will sweep the county.” 

And so indeed it proved. The white vote was 


THE MASTER-WORD 



solidly against him, as well as the respectable 
negro vote; but both together were far from 
being a match for the negro voters in the camps. 

Hayne came out to the Lawtons’ to dinner the 
next evening. He arrived early and found that 
Bess had not yet returned, though it was growing 
dusk. He sat with Margaret, Dick, and Bruce, 
talking over the election. 

« It is an outrage,” he said at last, ‘‘ that half 
a dozen white scoundrels should be able to come 
in here and by buying the votes of these strange 
negroes, most of them unable to read or write, 
be able to wrench the government from the peo- 
ple who belong here, and to wield the power 
they do. I don’t see any remedy but a restric- 
tion of the ignorant vote.” 

“ The only chance for next fall is for all the 
mine-owners to get together and do in every 
camp what we did here,” said Bruce. “ We can 
restrict it all right that way, and see to the 
other later. The ballot ought to be taken away 
from every negro who can’t read and write.” 

“ Amen ! ” cried Bess’s gay voice in the hall. 

But for pity’s sake don’t stop at that ! What 
I want is a gerrymander that will dispose of 
the vote of a white patriarch like Mr. Jacob 
Simmons ! ” 

She came in in her riding-habit, bringing with 
her, as she always did, a sense of breeze and 
sunshine. She nodded to Hayne, and dropping 
into a chair gave a long sigh of satisfaction. 


THE MASTER-WORD 


267 


“ Oh, mother,” she said, “ I’ve had the beauti- 
fullest time ! Adventures have been happening 
all the afternoon ; and to crown my joy I have 
seen the desire of my heart accomplished and 
your precious Mr. Simmons put in the cala- 
boose ! ” 

“ Bess ! ” exclaimed her mother in horror. 

« Now, mother, don’t look shocked ; I didn’t 
take him there myself. And don’t you think 
it’s a dreadful place for him, either ; I tell you 
it’s an ideal place. The man who invented 
calabooses must have been a prophet, and had 
Mr. Simmons in his mind’s eye when he did it. 
And don’t worry ; nobody’s unhappy : the patri- 
arch is too drunk to know what’s happened to 
him, and the children are having the time of 
their lives ; they don’t get their pa < took up ’ 
every day — more’s the pity ! ” 

“ But, Bess — ” 

“Wait, and I’ll tell you. I’ll begin at the 
beginning. I was riding down the road by their 
house when I heard the most pitiful sobbing in 
that clump of trees there by the road. Of course 
I stopped, and there was poor little ’Kiah Sim- 
mons shaking and crying down on the ground, 
and he said his father was up at the house and 
he was afraid of him. I couldn’t get another 
thing out of the poor mite, so I just went up to 
see.” 

A protest against such madness came from her 
four listeners. 


268 


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“ Oh, I had my pistol. Mother always makes 
me take it when I go alone. Besides, do you sup- 
pose rd leave them there to be murdered while 
I went screaming for help? I just went in!” 

‘‘ Alone, and that man drinking ! ” said Mar- 
garet, her face quite pale. 

“No, ma’am, he wasn’t drinking. And he 
wasn’t beating the children, either. He had 
finished both jobs to perfection, and was taking 
a hard-earned rest in the middle of the floor, fast 
asleep and dead drunk.” 

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but merely 
glanced at Margaret and said nothing. Hayne 
looked both concerned and proud, but his eyes 
were twinkling. 

“ The chairs were all broken, and the children 
were black and blue. Julia Maria had a cut 
over one eye that she got defending one of the 
little ones. Mr. Simmons had laid aside his 
coat, vest, and collar. He had taken off his shoes, 
too ; he wanted them to throw at ’Kiah. There 
wasn’t a bit of Are nor a bite to eat. They said 
he locked them in yesterday morning when he 
went off to the election and left them there till 
he came back this afternoon, drunk as could be, 
and with a big bottle of whiskey he said the 
sheriff had given him.” 

“ The sheriff I ” exclaimed Dick. “ Are you 
sure ? ” 

“Yes, Diccon, the sheriff. He was just talka- 
tive when he came home, and said a lot of things 


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269 


he’d have kept to himself if he’d been sober. 
He’s been working for the sheriff ever so long. 
But he kept on drinking until he was dangerous, 
and then he found he’d lost the money the 
sheriff had given him, and that made him mad, 
so he turned in and took it out of the children — 
the brute ! ” 

Margaret had risen, but Bess pulled her down 
again. 

“Sit down and hear my tale, you impolite 
lady ! I told you the children were having a 
celebration. I helped them start a fire, and then 
I rode over to Uncle Eb’s. June was there, and 
he and Aunt Jane and I carried over everything 
she had in the house to eat. I gave June my 
pistol and told him to mount guard over the 
patriarch while I went to town for the sheriff.” 

“ You didn’t — ” broke in Margaret, Bruce, and 
Dick. 

“ No, I didn’t,” she interrupted ; “ I didn’t 
anything I oughtn’t, so there ! I know that’s 
uncommon,” she added with a laugh, “but I 
really didn’t. I went to Dr. Ward’s office to 
send him for the sheriff ; but he came right into 
the office while I was there, like a real special 
providence, and I just gave him one piece of my 
mind ! ” 

Hayne threw back his head and laughed, and 
even Bruce smiled. 

“ I told him next time he wanted to give a 
man whiskey for buying votes for him he’d 


270 


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better pick out somebody who had no little 
children to have their heads cut with the broken 
bottle — and he said he would, too. Do you 
know I think I really impressed the sheriff,” she 
added modestly, 

“ I don’t doubt it,” said Hayne. Bess flashed 
him a smile which seemed to Bruce rather 
uncalled for. 

“He had his buggy there, and I made him 
come right out. I rode along by the buggy and 
told him all about the little Simmonses. He 
seemed real sorry for them. I told him he ought 
to square things up by sending the head Simmons 
to the penitentiary, but he said he couldn’t, 
just for being drunk — it was against the law. I 
told him he did everything else against the law, 
so that didn’t make any difference ; but the most 
I could get out of him was a promise to try to 
get him as heavy a sentence as the law allowed. 
I don’t more than half believe him, either,” she 
added morosely. “ But anyway, he took him 
off to jail. I brought the children some oranges 
and things, and Aunt Jane had been stuffing 
them the whole time I was gone besides. I’m 
really uneasy about ’Kiah ; I think he’s going to 
explode.” 

“ I hope this will insure Simmons’s discharge. 
Aunt Margaret,” said Bruce. “ I wondered why 
he didn’t turn up for work this morning, and 
this explains it. Do you want him kept any 
longer ? ” 


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271 


“I can’t let those children go, Bruce,” she 
said. ‘‘Find out first if there’s been enough 
mistreatment to get them away from him legally. 
After that I suppose he must go.” But she 
looked troubled and disappointed. Bess rose. 

“ It’s time for me to run and dress if I’m to 
be allowed at dinner,” she said. “ Now, mother, 
quit looking Simmons-y ; I won’t have it. Do 
cheer mother up, everybody. You might try 
reforming the sheriff, mother; he’s a lot more 
promising.” She ran off upstairs, while Bruce 
hurried to the office and telephoned Martin to 
inform Simmons, as soon as he was in a condi- 
tion to receive the tidings, that his arrest had 
been caused by Bruce Carleton, and not by Miss 
Lawton. 

It was three weeks before Mr. Simmons was 
seen again. He spent a large part of that time 
in jail, but when he was released he did not 
return home, nor apply for work at the mines, 
and Bruce hoped that he had deserted his family 
and run away. He was indulging this hope as 
he walked back to the house from the wheat- 
field one evening about dusk. The men had 
quit work and gone home, while he had lingered 
a few minutes to decide where the strippers 
should begin their work in the morning. As 
he came over the crest of the hill he heard a 
strange, smothered cry — a woman’s cry — from 
the grove in the valley beyond. He stopped to 
listen, but it did not come again, and he ran 


272 


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down the hill into the foot-path and toward the 
grove. As he neared the trees the cry came 
again, and presently he saw a woman struggling 
in the grip of a man whose hand was over her 
mouth. It was almost dark, and her face was 
turned from him, but the dreadful conviction 
seized him that it was Bess. He had already 
recognized Simmons, and was sure that he had 
learned the truth about his arrest from the 
children notwithstanding his caution to them: 
the brute was trying to get his revenge. He had 
scarcely time to think these thoughts before he 
was upon them. Simmons had neither seen nor 
heard him when a furious blow on the jaw sent 
him reeling against a tree. His head struck it 
violently, and he lay motionless where he fell. 
Bruce turned to the woman, all his resolutions 
forgotten, his whole soul in his voice. 

“ Bess, darling ! ” he cried, catching her in one 
arm and taking her hands in his. “ Oh ! Viry ! ’’ 
He loosed her and recoiled as from a snake. 
“What in thunder are you doing out here so 
late ? ” he asked angrily. “ This is no country 
for women to gad about in alone at night.” 

Viry did not answer him. She had kept 
some of her pupils in until late that afternoon, 
and after they were gone she remained in her 
seat from sheer lack of interest or occupation in 
life. What was the use of going anywhere or 
doing anything — what was the use of living ? 
She sat in a dull apathy in the darkening room 


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273 


until roused at last by a sudden perception of 
the chill and gloom of the approaching night. 
Then she had gone out quickly. She was des- 
perately afraid of being out alone in the dark, 
and had hurried along the path until Simmons 
had sprung out upon her, and Bruce had heard 
her cry. She leaned against a tree now, trem- 
bling, and weak with fright. 

Bruce walked over to Simmons, struck a 
match, and examined him coolly, stirring him 
with his foot. 

Pretty good cut on his head,” he said. 
“ He’s good for half an hour yet, at least, but 
I won’t take any risks. I’ll get a rope and tie 
the devil up and send for the sheriff before he 
finds out what hit him. I’ll take you as far as 
the barn ; you’ll be safe then. Walk as fast as 
you can.” 

He had already turned and started toward the 
house, so he did not see Mr. Simmons draw him- 
self carefully to a sitting posture, and then, wip- 
ing the blood from his eyes, begin to creep on 
all fours through the trees. 

Viry had moved as Bruce spoke, and walked 
beside him, panting a little. 

« You needn’t go so fast,” he said ; “ there’s 
time enough.” He slackened his pace. 

“ It isn’t that,” said Viry. “I can walk.” 

It was the memory of Bruce’s voice that 
moved her, and the eagerness of his clasping 
hands. And yet he was going g^way, though 


274 


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Miss Bess loved him. She could not understand, 
but she wanted to help them both. She was 
afraid of Bruce, too — afraid of the sound of his 
voice when he spoke to her, afraid of his anger 
at her presumption. But for Miss Bess’s sake 
she would dare. Her breath came in gasps. 

“Mr. Bruce,” she said, and the sound of her 
voice was lost in the drumming of the blood in 
her ears, “ if you love Miss Bess so much — ” 
she caught her breath and hesitated. Bruce had 
come to a dead stop. 

“ This passes bounds,” he said under his breath. 
« Will you be good enough to hold your tongue ? ” 

Viry wavered for a moment ; she felt as if she 
were about to fall, but she steadied herself with 
a desperate effort and walked on, her face burn- 
ing, hot tears smarting under her lids. Bruce 
stalked beside her without speaking until they 
reached the barn. 

“ You are safe now,” he said. “ See that you 
don’t worry Miss Margaret or Miss Bess with 
any tales.” 

Viry flashed him an indignant look, but the night 
was quite dark, and if it had not been he would 
not have seen it, for his face was turned away. 

He hurried into the barn and called the man 
who was feeding the horses. They took a rope 
and a lantern and ran back to the grove ; but 
to Bruce’s amazement Simmons was gone. They 
searched the grove and even the neighboring 
fields, but could find no trace of him ; and 


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275 


finally, fearing that he might be late for dinner 
and arouse Margaret’s anxiety — for she had not 
yet recovered from her fear of Bolles’s return — 
Bruce gave up the search for the night. 

“ Don’t say a word to anybody,” he charged 
the negro. “ I’ll go to town early in the morning 
and be sworn in as a constable myself ; then I’ll 
search this county till I bring that fellow down. 
Nobody can be safe till he’s caught.” 

He started next morning soon after breakfast, 
was duly sworn in, and hurried back. There 
were several things to be looked after before he 
could start on his hunt. Dick was away. He 
intended to take with him two of the foremen, 
both unmarried men — Jones, a white man, and 
Jim Mason. He finished his hurried rounds, 
after his return, at the kiln which Jim’s men 
were building far down on the plantation near 
the gate which led from the private road through 
Margaret’s land to the county pike outside. 
After giving his directions to the men, he called 
Jim aside and told him what he wanted. The 
man was more than willing to accompany him, 
and the two walked back along the road toward 
the office, where Jones awaited them. 

The road dipped down into a little hollow 
through which ran a brook, spanned by a wooden 
bridge and shaded by an ancient beech. As 
they stepped upon the bridge a man on horse- 
back suddenly emerged from behind the tree on 
the other side of the stream, and fired twice at 


276 


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Bruce’s heart. He dropped without a groan, 
and Jim fell upon his knees beside him, while 
Simmons, shouldering his smoking rifle, turned 
coolly back up the plantation road. 

Margaret and Bess had started to town for 
some shopping, and were driving along through 
the fields at a brisk trot, laughing together over 
some of the girl’s nonsense, when a man on 
horseback appeared around a bend of the road, 
two or three hundred yards from the bridge. 

“ Why, there’s Mr. Simmons,” said Margaret. 
« I thought he had gone away.” 

« He evidently prefers hunting to work,” said 
Bess, seeing his gun over his shoulder ; ‘‘ some- 
body has been shooting partridges on the place 
ever since I woke up this morning, and I just 
expect it was he. I wish Dick would arrest him 
for it when he comes home.” 

Mr. Simmons reined in his horse, touching his 
cap awkwardly. 

Mornin’, ladies,” he said politely. « Is this 
yere a gentle horse ? ” 

“ Why, yes,” said Margaret in surprise. “ Why 
do you ask ? ” 

“ Thar’s a feller shot a man around yere not 
long ago. He’s a-layin’ down the road a piece. 
I ’lowed ef your horse is anyways scary he mout 
shy. You-all better turn back.” 

“ Is he dead ? ” asked Margaret, in a shocked 
voice. 


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277 


Mr. Simmons reflected. 

“ I reckon he mus’ be. Yes, he’s e’en about 
dead by now.” 

« Who shot him ? ” 

The man’s eyes deliberately swept the horizon 
and came back with speculation in their depths. 

“Why — somebody shot him,” he ventured; 
“ must ’a’ done it ; he’s a-layin’ thar. He — ” 

Bess had cut the horse suddenly and the animal 
bounded past him. He looked after them with 
a slow grin. 

“ Even all round. Miss Proudface. An’ ef 
he had a chanst, I reckon I kep’ you talkin’ long 
enough to settle it ; every second ’ll count with 
’im. I’m willin’ now to call it quits.” 

He rode on a little way farther, and then, turn- 
ing sharply out of the road, went across the fields 
for over a mile to a line of thickly wooded hills. 


XXI 


Margaeet, looking at Bess’s white face, her- 
self guessed the truth before they reached the 
wounded man. They found Jim kneeling beside 
him, crying like a child, and trying to stop the 
flow of blood with strips torn from his own shirt. 
The two women sprang out without a word and 
bent over the prostrate body. Margaret laid her 
ear to his heart, and Bess loosened his collar, 
watching her mother in an agony of fear. 

“ It beats,” said Margaret. “ Go to the cross- 
roads store and telephone for Dr. Ward. And 
remember while he breathes there is hope.” 

Bess was already in the buggy, and Margaret, 
with Jim’s assistance, began to bind the wound 
as best she could. She folded her jacket and 
slipped it under his head, and then sat beside 
him, feeling his fluttering pulse. 

« Go home and get some brandy, a wagon, a 
mattress, blankets, and men to lift him,” she 
said to Jim. “ That is all we can do till the 
doctor comes. Tell no one whom you do not 
need to tell ; and outrun death if you can.” 

Jim sprang to his feet and ran. Margaret sat 
waiting, her eyes on Bruce’s face. The habitual 
278 


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279 


sternness of his expression was all gone, smoothed 
out by the hand of approaching death, and in its 
place was a look so worn and sad that, selfish as 
she ielt his suffering to be, her heart ached as 
she saw it. She had not realized how great 
his struggle had been, nor how severely it had 
told on him; his face was actually gaunt, and 
the lines about his mouth told their own story 
of pride and silence and pain. She thought of 
Bess, and of herself long years ago when Philip, 
her first Philip, had been snatched from her in 
the twinkling of an eye, until her own anguish 
and her daughter’s seemed to blend and fill the 
world. 

Bess meanwhile had dashed down the road 
and out along the pike to the cross-roads store, 
which drove a thriving trade in groceries and 
dry-goods with the negroes of the neighboring 
camps. As she reined in her horse she saw, to 
her infinite relief, the figure of Johnson Tyree in 
the doorway and his buggy at the hitching-post. 
She sprang to the porch, calling him as she did 
so. 

“Johnson, Mr. Carleton has been shot. He is 
in the road beyond our gate, by the bridge. — 
Have you any brandy here ? ” she asked the 
store-keeper. 

“ I have some whiskey,” he replied, producing 
a flask. 

She gave it to Tyree, and seizing a bolt of 
muslin lying on the counter with a pair of scis- 


280 


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sors upon it, tore off a long strip. “ Take this 
for bandages,” she said. “ Fly. I left the gate 
open. Mother is there, and Dr. Ward will 
come.” 

Tyree went out, and the store-keeper began to 
ask excited questions. She seized the telephone 
receiver without hearing him, and rang up Dr. 
Ward. 

“ Oh, hurry,” she implored as she finished her 
story. “ I think he is dying. Tell your father 
to come, but do not wait for him ; drive fast.” 

She hung up the receiver and ran hastily 
through the book, looking for another number, 
a look of relentless fury growing in her eyes. 

« Is that Mr. Martin ? ” she demanded. Then, 
“Tell Mr. Martin Miss Lawton wants him at 
once. — -Mr. Martin? — Jacob Simmons shot Mr. 
Carleton twenty minutes ago — murdered him, 
I think. He has gone up our plantation road, I 
suppose to his own house, or to those thick woods 
on the hill. Have you bloodhounds? — You 
haven’t? Will you arrest him at once? — You 
promise to go yourself ? — Thank you.” She 
hurried back to the buggy, and in another mo- 
ment was driving furiously toward the man she 
loved, an agonized longing in her heart to see his 
living face once more. 

Tyree had already reached him. He had 
driven with one hand, holding the cloth in his 
teeth and tearing it with the other hand as he 
went. He bent over Bruce, feeling his heart and 


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281 


forcing the whiskey between his teeth. Then he 
bound the wound more securely, cutting away 
his clothing in order to do so. 

“He was shot twice,” he said to Margaret, 
“ and this bullet would have killed him instantly 
if it had not been stopped.” 

He showed her a cut place in the vest, and 
from an inner pocket drew out and handed to 
her an oval metal case. She recognized it as 
one Bess had given him with her picture in it 
while she yet wore curls and short skirts. She 
slipped it into the bag on her wrist. 

“ Will the other one kill him ? ” she asked. 

“ I don’t know. Miss Margaret ; I can’t tell 
where the ball is. But he has clean blood and a 
good constitution ; we can certainly hope. Who 
did it ? ” 

“ Jacob Simmons did it,” she answered, rising 
as she saw Bess returning, and hurrying to give 
her a word of encouragement. At the same 
moment Jim drove up from the opposite direc- 
tion, bringing the needed supplies. They lifted 
him carefully to the mattress, and then into the 
wagon. He was still unconscious, but his head 
turned a little, and he moaned in pain. The 
wagon moved slowly down the road, Tyree 
sitting beside him and the men walking behind. 
Bess and Margaret drove on rapidly to prepare a 
room for him on the first floor. 

Dr. Ward overtook the wagon before it reached 
the house, and when the men had laid their 


282 


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unconscious burden down in the sewing-room he 
turned to Margaret, who stood beside the bed. 

“ You won’t be needed, Margaret,” he said, 
gently, to his old playmate. “ Tyree will stay 
and help me. Send father in when he comes, and 
I’ll bring you word as soon as I know myself.” 

Margaret went back to the sitting room, where 
Bess stood by the window, erect and tearless. 

“ They will tell us as soon as they know,” she 
said, in answer to her daughter’s look. Bess 
turned back to the window. 

“ If Dick were here,” she said passionately, 
« that man would be caught ! Or if I were only a 
man myself ! But who can trust the sheriff ? ” 

« I would rather he should get away, dear, 
than run the risk of losing Dick too,” said her 
mother ; “ if he were here he ought to go, and 
he would go — and I could not bear it ! ” 

Bess took her hand. “ Forgive me, mother,” 
she said ; « I didn’t think.” 

They waited together for what seemed an age. 
Old Dr. Ward came, and the room which held 
the mystery of life or death swallowed him up, 
and again they waited in the outer silence. To 
Bess it seemed that the day must be almost 
ended when at last the door opened and the 
father and son came out. The older man 
answered the look in the women’s faces. 

“We will make a fight for it,” he said, “and 
with patience and courage we may win. David, 
here, is going to telephone up to Nashville for a 


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283 


couple of nurses, and until they come Tyree and 
I will take it turn about. David has two or 
three cases of fever on hand and must go back 
and forth ; but I’m an old man on the retired 
list, my dear, and if you like I can stay in the 
house until he is out of danger. Now, do I 
need any thanks ? Bruce is almost as much 
like my grandchild as little pale-face, here. He 
wasn’t born to be killed by that rascal, child. 
His life has been saved twice already — once by 
the picture that turned the worst bullet, and 
once by Tyree’s getting there in time to stop his 
bleeding to death and to give him the whiskey. 
Your mother knows more than most women, but 
that wound was more than she could manage.” 

« What picture ? ” asked Bess. 

« I don’t know that it was a picture,” said the 
old man, glad to occupy her mind with any 
trifle ; “ Tyree said there was an old metal case 
in his vest pocket that looked as if it might have 
a picture in it. It ought to have held his sweet- 
heart’s, for it was right over his heart ; though 
from what Tyree said it was rather a shabby- 
looking affair, too, for a sweetheart’s picture.” 

“ Where is it ? ” asked Bess. The color had 
come and gone in her face. 

« I have it,” said Margaret. She opened her 
hand-bag, lying on the table, and drew it out. 
“ See, there is where the bullet dented it. 
Nobody has opened it,” she added, carelessly, 
“so the possible sweetheart is safe from dis- 


284 


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covery. Go put it away in his room, dear, 
where he can get it when he wants it.” 

Bess gave her mother a quick, grateful look 
and went out. Dr. David was in the hall call- 
ing up « Long Distance.” She ran past him up 
the steps, not to Bruce’s room, but to her own. 
She pressed the dented old case to her lips. She 
had bought it one summer long ago when she 
and Dick were children. Their mother had 
taken them on their first trip North, and one 
afternoon they had gone to Coney Island, and in 
one of the endless booths had had some tintypes 
taken and framed in the cases which the photog- 
rapher had on sale. She had come across hers 
of Dick only the other day, and laughed over it. 
She had had two of her own framed, one for 
Dick and one for Bruce, which, on reaching home 
she had presented to him in the firm conviction 
that the case, with all that gilding on it, was a 
very splendid present indeed. And now it had 
saved his life ! And he must love her as she 
loved him, or he would not have worn it so. 
Unconsciously her hand went up to her own 
locket, lying hidden beneath her dress. 

She had been sure of his love so long as she 
was indifferent to it ; but ever since the night 
when she had started to walk across the fields 
with him she had believed in it and doubted it 
by turns ; and of late, especially since that dread- 
ful night when Dick told her he was going away, 
she had doubted it altogether. But if he wore 


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285 


her picture — ah, if he wore it ! Suppose her 
picture were not there ? He might have taken 
it out years ago and put some one else’s in its 
place — oh, not in that shabby old thing ! — 
But he might have put some papers in there — 
something he really didn’t care about at all. 
Mere improbability could not balk her woman’s 
power of self-torment; she knew now that her 
picture was not in the case, and in her sudden 
shame of the happiness which she had felt a 
moment before, she dropped it on her dressing- 
table and covered her face with her hands. The 
picture fell on the back of a brush, glanced off 
on its edge, and fell rattling to the floor as its 
rickety old clasp parted and it sprawled wide 
open to rebuke her lack of faith. 

Not that she intended to look at it even then. 
She had now decided that it contained the pic- 
ture of the girl — not herself — to whom Bruce 
had given his heart. Not for worlds would she 
spy upon him. She bent on one knee, her head 
resolutely turned away, and groped behind her 
for the case. When her Angers touched it they 
told her that it was empty. In her astonish- 
ment she turned her head, and there on the floor 
lay the queer old tintype ; and beside it, cut to 
the same size, a later picture taken at college in 
her cap and gown gazed up at her reproachfully. 
She caught them up, laughing hysterically, and 
then, flinging her arms across a chair, buried her 
head in them and cried to her heart’s content. 


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The sheriff meanwhile had been in a quandary. 
He liked Bruce Carleton, notwithstanding the 
young man’s attitude toward him, and he had 
no objection whatever to having Jacob Simmons 
hung, provided he himself did not have to assist 
at the ceremony. But Simmons had been work- 
ing for him for some time ; he had done several 
very dirty jobs; and he was of that unpleasantly 
vindictive nature which would enjoy any meas- 
ure of retaliation on his captor whether it soft- 
ened his own fate or not. The sheriff could 
scarcely afford to have him caught in that county 
on a really serious charge. The fellow was 
fighting mad already, about being locked up as 
“ drunk and disorderly ” ; he mustn’t be jailed 
again. After all. Miss Lawton had told him very 
little. Carleton evidently wasn’t dead, though 
she seemed to be trying to make the worst of it; 
and how did she know it was Simmons ? He 
did some rapid thinking which convinced him 
that he must attend to the matter himself ; he 
wanted no more witnesses. He provided himself 
with a razor, a small roll of bills, and two or 
three packages of food, which he thrust into his 
overcoat pockets ; and making a rapid circuit of 
the Lawton place he rode by an unobserved route 
to the hills of which Bess had told him, having 
wisely assumed that so much of her information 
as served his purpose was correct. 

He had already, for quite different purposes, 
arranged a code of signals with the man he 


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287 


sought, and had no difficulty in finding him. It 
took but a few moments to transfer the money 
and food from the sheriff’s pocket to that of Mr. 
Simmons, and to remove the latter gentleman’s 
bushy beard. 

‘‘ Where’d you get this horse ? ” asked Martin. 

Picked him up on the Lawton place last 
night.” 

“Well, you get on him and go. I’m askin’ no 
questions, an’ I don’t want any information. I’m 
goin’ down to the Lawton place to get a posse 
an’ hunt these hills fer a feller that’s been doin’ 
some shootin’. Then I’m goin’ to his house, an’ 
beat around the neighborhood generally.” He 
glanced at his watch. “ Anybody that was spry 
enough could get the morning train to — some- 
wheres, over at the junction, if they kep’ due 
west and off the pike where folks could see ’em.” 
He turned his horse’s head and rode off. 

As soon as he struck the road he put his horse 
to a gallop again, so that when he arrived at 
Mrs. Lawton’s any one could see that the animal 
was in a lather. He assured Margaret that he 
had been “on the move” ever since her daughter 
telephoned, and that he had already picked up 
one or two clews on his way out. He asked and 
obtained permission to raise a posse on the place. 
The woods were scoured, the man’s house 
watched, the whole plantation, and indeed that 
part of the county, thoroughly searched. Tele- 
grams were sent that afternoon to all the neigh- 


288 


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boring railroad stations, and Dick, who arrived 
the next night, thought that for once the sheriff 
had done his duty like a man. He offered a 
large reward for Mr. Simmons ; but to this day 
he has never been heard of; and in his absence 
his fortunate family thrives and rejoices. 

The long days when Bruce’s life hung in the 
balance were easier for Bess to bear than for 
Viry. Every one knew that Bruce was a second 
brother to Bess, and whatever signs of grief were 
visible in her seemed entirely natural ; moreover, 
nothing could rob her of the certainty, all the 
more blessed for the long doubt, that Bruce’s 
heart was hers. She could not understand his 
silence, his usual manner toward her, nor, above 
all, his intention to leave her, apparently without 
any attempt to change their relations. But it was 
not necessary to understand ; whatever he did, 
there was some good reason for it, and that he 
loved her was enough ; she could wait for all the 
rest. Whether he lived or died, he loved her, 
and in that knowledge was strength to face 
whatever the future might have in store. 

But Viry could show no trace of grief, nor did 
she dare inquire too eagerly if the man she loved 
were yet alive. Her own consciousness of her 
love made her timid even where she would 
not have been suspected, while from Marga- 
ret’s presence she shrank as burnt flesh might 
shrink from red-hot iron. She not only lived 
without the comfort of knowing that he loved 


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289 


her ; she was every moment conscious of the 
scorn and anger of the last words she had heard 
him speak ; and she felt, too, that it was she 
who had sent him to his death. She had long 
lived without hope of happiness ; but now she 
felt that her life had become a curse, not merely 
to herself, but to the only two people whom she 
had found it possible to love. She watched 
Bess’s face in anguish, seeing it grow thin and 
pale and sad, yet never daring to speak of that 
of which her heart was full, lest at the touch of 
the girl’s sweet sympathy her pent-up feeling 
should rush out, and she should say too much. 
Bess thought her cold and unfeeling ; and then, 
fair-minded friend that she was always, remem- 
bered Bruce’s long dislike of her and owned that 
it was unreasonable to expect Viry to be really 
grieved. 

For herself, as the week-like days grew into 
month-long weeks, Bess found that the knowl- 
edge of Bruce’s love for her could not always 
steady her in the face of his impending death. 
She knew without words that somehow, with- 
out words also, her mother understood, and for 
her mother’s sake as well as for her own pride 
she kept up an appearance of cheerfulness in her 
presence ; but there came times when such effort 
was beyond her. She waited in the sitting room 
one morning while the doctors lingered by Bruce’s 
bed, and the look of their faces as they came out 
was as much as her composure could bear. As 


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they began to speak to her mother she raised the 
window by which she stood, closing it behind 
her quickly lest she should hear what they were 
saying. She ran down the steps and across the 
yard, her hands pressed tight to her ears, her 
feet stumbling as she went. She went to the 
old spring-house beech, where she and her 
mother had carried so many of their sorrows and 
joys, and threw herself face down upon the grass, 
her head on her arm. Great sobs began to shake 
her body, deep, tearless, long-drawn. Tears fol- 
lowed them, slow and few at first, and then in 
a wild rush that eased the desperate tension of 
her heart. She rose quite calm at last and 
started back to the house ready to take up her 
life again and bear it bravely. 

Walter Hayne had ridden out, as he did every 
day, to inquire, to find some service which he 
could render to Margaret or to Dick, and to 
watch in aching sorrow the change in Bess. He 
had not given up his own hopes, since he felt 
sure that Dick’s illness would have wrought like 
havoc in her face ; but the whole force of his 
love had poured itself into a longing to help and 
comfort her. To-day as he dismounted he saw 
her approaching through the side gate, and hur- 
ried impulsively to meet her, not knowing what 
he should do or say, but moved deeply, as he 
came nearer, by the look upon her face. 

‘‘ He is no better ? ” he asked. 

She shook her head. 


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“ I would give my life for his if it would help 
you,” he said. It seems such a poor thing to 
say when I cannot do it ; but I love you so that 
I cannot bear your sorrow without trying to tell 
you how much I care, how much I want to help. 
Dear, is there nothing love can do ? ” 

The tears welled up in her eyes, though they 
did not fall. 

“ Understand that I am asking nothing for my- 
self,” he said gently. « If you care for me ever so 
little, if you think you can ever care, I do not 
ask to know it. I only want you to know that 
I love you with my whole heart and soul and 
life, so that if by a miracle that knowledge could 
give you a moment’s comfort, or if it would help 
you to turn to me for anything I might do — ” 
his voice trembled and ceased. 

“ Mr. Hayne,” said Bess, turning her tear-filled 
eyes to his, “ I think you are the best man I ever 
knew. Bruce would not love me like that ; he 
would never say to me what you have said ; 
and yet — it is Bruce that I love.” Her voice 
sank to a whisper. Two tears brimmed over 
and rolled slowly down her cheeks. 

Hayne lifted her hand and kissed it. His 
face was pale, but his eyes were steady and 
clear. 

“ You are the sweetest woman God ever made,” 
he said. You will bless me all my life, as you 
have blessed me from the first day we met. 
And as long as I live I shall live for you — and 


292 


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for Carleton, and every one you love. Never 
give me troubled thoughts, dear; be glad, when 
you think of me, that you have made my life so 
rich.” 

He held her hand still, and now he took them 
both, holding them fast for a moment. “ Carle- 
ton will get well,” he said ; “ he will not die ; 
and your love will make him like one of the 
archangels. Sweet, do not grieve ; it is life that 
will come, not death.” 

She turned her face toward him, half com- 
forted by the strong assurance in his voice. He 
smiled at her and once more lifted her hands to 
his lips. Then he turned and left her to mount 
his horse and ride on his solitary way. 


XXII 


To Bess it seemed that Hayne’s confident 
faith in Bruce’s recovery had in some way laid 
hold upon him and dragged him back from the 
gates of death. That very day the fire of life, 
sunk as it was to a half-quenched spark, began to 
glow again, and slowly, fitfully, flickered up into 
an ever-steadying fiame. One week and another 
passed in slowly brightening hope. Christmas 
came and went in unwonted quiet, though not 
in gloom ; and by the middle of January they 
began to lift Bruce into a great arm-chair be- 
side his bed, where cushioned in pillows and 
wrapped in blankets he sat for a while each day, 
trying to regain a little of his vanished strength. 
The time came at last when he wrung from the 
doctor a set promise that he might go into the 
next room in two or three days. In his own 
mind he was determined that it should be two, 
not three. He had heard practically nothing of 
Bess in the ages he had spent within these walls, 
and as his physical strength came back his pa- 
tience, never very robust, fainted and failed him 
altogether. 

Hayne had ridden over that afternoon and 
293 


294 


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Margaret had kept him to dinner. She was out 
of the room just now, and he sat with Bess and 
Dick before the fireplace filled with blazing 
logs. They spoke of Bruce, and of the doctor’s 
promise, 

“ He’s doing well to get into the sitting room 
before January is out,” said Dick ; “ Labrador 
won’t see him this winter ; I doubt if he makes 
it before the end of the spring.” 

‘‘ Labrador ! ” exclaimed Hayne in amazement. 
« Is he still going to Labrador ? ” 

“Certainly,” said Dick. “You didn’t think a 
trifle like being half murdered would stop him, 
did you ? ” 

“ When will he be back ? ” asked Hayne, still 
in bewilderment. 

“ Oh, nobody knows. Years perhaps, he says.” 

Hayne looked at Bess, and as he saw the burn- 
ing crimson of her cheeks could have bitten his 
tongue out to recall his words. 

“ I can’t understand what makes Bruce so 
foolish,” Dick went on. “There’s all the for- 
tune he needs right here if he’d just be content 
to stay here and make it.” 

“ Oh, he has good reason for what he does,” 
said Hayne, carelessly. “ Carleton’s a very level- 
headed fellow ; his judgment’s worth trusting, 
I think. — Miss Bess, I want to go partridge hunt- 
ing to-morrow if the weather holds ; may I bor- 
row your dog? Mr. Carleton lent him to me 
last winter while you were away ; if he does 


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295 


half as well as he did then I’ll have a bag of 
game for you when I come back.” 

Bess assented, and the conversation rambled 
on. Hayne never could remember how the rest 
of the evening was spent. He left as soon as he 
could, and passed a most wretched night. It 
had never occurred to him that Bruce would go 
away for any reason except that Bess did not 
care for him ; he had supposed either that he 
feared to speak, or that he had spoken and been 
refused ; and since the day when Bess had told 
him of her love for Bruce he had taken it as a 
matter of course that everything was settled 
between them. The perception that out of her 
desire to spare him further uncertainty and dis- 
appointment she had said to him what she had 
not said to the man she loved — what she had 
not, he now guessed, even been asked to say — 
only deepened his love and reverence for her. 
But what of Carleton ? The man loved her 
passionately, consumingly. He himself loved 
her too much not ' to understand the look he had 
surprised on Bruce’s face that night. Why then 
was he going away ? Why, above all, was he 
going without a word ? 

He sat puzzling over it far into the night, 
until, spurred by his love, his mind grasped the 
truth. He remembered Carleton’s eagerness for 
wealth ; yet neither Mrs. Lawton, he knew, nor 
Dick, would find fault with any man on the 
score of poverty. It was the man’s own pride 


296 


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which had put up the bars — his infernal, selfish 
pride! He rose and walked the floor. Bess 
loved him — she would love him all her life — 
and the stiff-necked fool was going to the world’s 
end and leaving her without a word ! For a 
time his anger swept everything before it. Why 
should such a doom have overtaken her — to 
give a love like hers to a man like that ? He 
raged against her fate and his own. Then he 
turned from the thought of his own suffering to 
work out some plan which should prevent hers. 
But he could think of nothing which would 
serve. Carleton had always met him in an out- 
wardly friendly fashion, yet with an unmistak- 
able reserve of antagonism ; and though he spent 
his days and nights in the effort he could And 
no way in his own thoughts by which to ap- 
proach him, to prevent the mad journey he had 
himself encouraged, or to smooth his way to 
Bess. Even if he could do it, would it really 
mean happiness for her ? Whichever way he 
turned he saw only pain for her, and he himself 
was powerless. For several days he kept away 
from her, trying for her sake to conquer the 
tumult in his own heart. 

Bruce meanwhile was having his own struggle. 
Bess had sent him no messages whatever. She 
knew now that he loved her, but since he had 
chosen silence she could but abide by it ; both 
her love and her self-respect made that inevitable. 
Margaret, watching, was well pleased with her. 


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297 


Her own hope, since Bruce had told her of his 
going away, had been that Bess would cease to 
care for him ; and she wished now to see him 
start on his long journey without a look of en- 
couragement or a word of explanation. She had 
come to know Hayne well in these last months, 
and recognized in him that rarest of all qualities 
in a man — a nature which is made to spend 
itself in love, rather than to receive that which 
another lavishes. She now felt that to be as 
essential as the quality of faithfulness which had 
so long been preeminent in her mind. The 
present necessity was to get Bruce away ; but in 
the background of her thoughts hovered the hope 
that Bess might some day waken to a new and 
worthier love. She was sorry for Bruce, but she 
had no compassion to bestow on him at her 
daughter’s expense ; and when he ^sked after 
Bess, in daily increasing desire for some special 
word from her, he received but cold comfort 
from Bess’s mother. Bess was very well. Bess 
had been exceedingly anxious about him, as they 
had all been; it had been a trying time. No, 
she had sent no message ; of course he under- 
stood how glad they all were that he was better 
and would soon be among them again. Yes, 
Mr. Hayne called last night. He came every 
day to inquire, and was delighted that Bruce 
was at last doing so well. Bruce heard these 
things, in one shape or another, as often as he 
inquired. 


298 


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He was slowly learning that it was all he de- 
served to hear. He suffered desperately in being 
so shut out from Bess’s life ; he was famished 
for her presence, perishing for one draught of 
hope. He tried to face the thought of the com- 
ing months, perhaps the coming years, away 
from her. Weak from his struggle with death, 
his heart yearned for her, while his pride gripped 
him and held him back. He had never gone 
back on any resolve that he had made ; and this 
one — to assert his own independence, to accept 
nothing even from those he loved best — had been 
the determination of a lifetime. He had gloried 
in it as his chief strength, his one grace that set 
him apart from other men and made him worthy 
of the most perfect woman he had known ; and 
he clung to it desperately though it clutched him 
and wrung his heart. 

And yet against his will a new thought de- 
manded entrance, returning as often as he barred 
it out — the thought that since he had given his 
love to Bess she had a right to a voice in the 
disposal of it. Was it fair to take back with 
one hand what he gave with the other, to hide 
from her the love she had created and owned by 
a right divine? He had little hope that she 
loved him ; her indifference when she found he 
was going away and her continued silence now 
both forbade that ; she might surely have turned 
from Hayne long enough to send some more in- 
dividual message than the wholesale family con- 


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299 


gratulations of which her mother was the bearer. 
But whether she really cared or not — and against 
all reason, and in the face of daily despair, hope— 
sprang up again and again — had she not the 
right to know what she was to him, that his love 
was hers for life ? He began to understand 
through his own misery what his silence would 
inflict on her if she did care. He had resented 
Margaret’s condemnation with all his heart, but 
a sense of its justice sank slowly into him, 
though he was not yet ready to yield his will. 

But day after day a change grew upon him. 
For after all, it was not in vain that he had 
faced death so long ; he had seen life from the 
standpoint of those who are removed from it, 
and had caught something of its true perspec- 
tive ; and though all those days of desperate 
weakness seemed but a blank in his memory, 
yet the constantly recurring thought of what he 
owed to Bess showed that something of the 
vision remained with him. Slowly, impercepti- 
bly, the centre of life began to shift. Pride 
seemed to hold him in the same unshaken grip, 
but love drew him more and more to see with 
Bess’s eyes, to feel her right, to dread for her the 
pain for which he had once been cruel enough 
to hope. He grew more humble as he grew 
more wise, until at last he was fairly down 
in the valley of humiliation, and saw with 
Margaret that his love was as worthless as the 
money which he had demanded as the condi- 


300 


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tion of offering it to the woman to whom it 
belonged. 

All his world was in ruins. His lifelong con- 
fidence in his own judgment, even in his own 
spiritual integrity, crumbled away. He saw 
himself anew, a different individuality of an 
unsuspected baseness. His physical weakness 
lent emphasis to the severity of the self-revela- 
tion, and that in turn reacted on his physical 
condition. 

“ You’ve been overdoing some way or other,” 
said the doctor. “You don’t get out of here 
to-morrow, young man.” 

Bruce offered no objection. He had no 
strength to waste in contention with Dr. Ward ; 
he needed it all for his confession to Bess. For 
he meant to tell her everything, to tell her 
to-morrow. He would keep back nothing, and 
would lay his life and his love in her hands to 
do with as she would. But what would she 
decide ? To hope seemed madness, and he had 
not the strength to face despair. Out of sheer 
exhaustion he fell asleep at last and slept far 
into the morning. 

One of the nurses had been dismissed, and the 
other was now often relieved from duty, and sent 
out for fresh air, or to find congenial companion- 
ship in the kitchen until the sound of Bruce’s 
bell should recall him. 

As soon as he was dressed this morning Bruce 
sent the man out. He waited until the sound of 


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301 


his footsteps died away, and then rose, steadying 
himself by the back of his chair, and walked 
across the room. At the door of the sitting 
room he paused, trembling from head to foot. 
Then he opened it and entered once more the 
dear, familiar room. 

Bess had come in only a moment before. She 
was standing at the table in the centre of the 
room, turning over the papers and magazines, 
looking for something to read. As the door 
opened, she glanced up and met Bruce’s eager 
gaze. At sight of her his whole soul leaped to 
^ his eyes, and outrunning the confession of his 
lips laid bare his heart before her. If she had 
\ never guessed the truth, she would have known 
\ it now beyond a doubt. 

She stood quite still, the table between them, 
while he moved slowly toward her, his face a 
thin translucence overflowed by an inner light. 
Down through her eyes it searched, until that 
which she kept hidden there felt its power and 
stirred, and sprang to answer the unspoken 



appeal. All that she had to give was none too 


much, and her eyes told him so without reserve. 
He had reached the table and leaned on it, look- 
ing across at her and drinking in the worship of 
her eyes. And he had put his pride before this ! 
The thought shook him like a blow. He must 
tell her everything ; would she ever look at him 
like that again ? He trembled out of sheer 
weakness, and Bess, seeing it, flew to his side. 


302 


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“ Oh, how dare you ! ” she cried. “ Come here.” 
She led him a few steps farther to the lounge, 
helped him as he sank down among the cushions, 
and covered him with the afghan. She wheeled 
him nearer to the fire, until he felt its glow, and 
then, feeling his gaze still upon her, timidly, half 
shamed, she turned her eyes once more to his. 
Slowly the color rose in the face which had been 
as pale as his own, and the lids fell over the eyes 
that had told so much. Bruce caught her hand. 
“My darling — ” 

“ Oh, hush ! ” cried Bess. “ Isn’t this enough ? ” 
“ But I must tell you — I want to know — ” 
“You know enough already,” she answered 
impetuously, the blood surging up in her face 
again. “ Indeed I can’t bear it now ; let me go 
away.” Her eyes implored him like a child’s. 

The sense of his power over her went through 
him. Who would have thought her face could 
look like that ? — and it was for him, for him ! 
He looked at her exultantly. She shrank back, 
moving her head uneasily, and he closed his eyes 
to release her, while the tide of life rose within 
him, swelling in every vein. 

“You may go if you will,” he said gently, 
“ but I won’t say anything to disturb you if you 
will stay; I will wait as long as you wish. But 
I want to tell you about my going away. It 
will mean a great deal to me if you will listen. 
Will you sit down here ? ” 

She drew up the ottoman and waited. 


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303 


“ I have meant to marry you some day, if I 
could, ever since I was a boy. But I thought 
manhood and independence required that I 
should first be your equal in fortune. I didn’t 
think that would be very difficult until the 
phosphate was discovered ; that seemed to put 
you out of my reach, and I tried to give you up. 
But I couldn’t, so I began to plan to make a 
great fortune out of nothing. I felt if I did not 
do that I was stooping below a mark which I 
had set for myself, that I was lessening my 
strength of will. I knew most men wouldn’t do 
that way, and I was proud of it ; I thought I 
was stronger, more manly, than the rest. I 
didn’t think you cared for me ; but if you did 
you must suffer as I would until my pride was 
appeased — only I didn’t call it pride. Dear, do 
you understand ? It was myself before you. 
Can you forgive me, or trust me again ? ” He 
looked at her, his face pale and wretched; Mar- 
garet’s words rang in his ears. 

“ If you should ever need forgiveness, I would 
forgive you. But to trust you is my own con- 
stant necessity which I meet with every breath I 
draw.” 

« But, Bess — ” 

Don’t say another word. Why should you 
worry over what never happened, or could hap- 
pen ? You wouldn’t have gone that way.” 

should have been gone now but for that 

shot.” 


304 


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“ I don’t believe it ! Now look at me, Bruce. 
Don’t you see I’m too charming to run away 
from ? Oh, I didn’t ask you to look everything 
at once ! ” She held her hand up between her 
eyes and his. 

“You make light of it to keep me from 
worrying,” he said ; “ but I cannot rest until I 
am sure you understand. I am a poorer man 
than I thought I was — far poorer in soul than in 
purse. I have loved you unworthily. Can you 
understand that, and yet love me, or believe in 
me ? ” 

“ I can do nothing else. It isn’t easy for me 
to say things, Bruce, and I don’t think I will \ 
very often ; so remember. I have never thought 
you were perfect, and perhaps we may need to 
forgive one another often ; but love only grows 
by things like that. And if your thought of 
love has grown from a smaller to a larger one, 
what is there to forgive ? It only proves that 
your love is a living, vital thing — a thing to 
trust. But if you should ever do anything that i 
really does need forgiveness, or if I should, why / 
should we be afraid ? That is one of the things / 
that love is for. \ Wouldn’t you forgive me ?” y 

“ Dear — ” 

“ Then understand me by yourself. It seems 
to me to be troubled by a thing like that is more 
a doubt of another’s love than of one’s own. I 
hope you will never doubt me, Bruce.” 

He looked at her and started to speak, but she 


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305 


held up her hand for silence and shook her 
head. 

“ You have talked too long already. Dr. 
Ward would call me a wretched nurse. If you 
say another word, I must go away. If you 
will lie with your eyes closed, I will sit here 
until you go to sleep.” 

“ I am not in the least sleepy,” he protested ; 
“ and I am not tired at all. — Oh, come back, 
tyrant ! I’ll be quiet.” 

She sat down again. When you wake up 
there is one thing you may tell me about,” she 
said amiably. “ You said you had intended to — 
that you had cared, you know — ever since you 
were a boy. I like that. That is really the 
most sensible remark you’ve made to-day. — Not 
now. Shut your eyes.” 

He closed them, smiling, moving his hand 
until it found hers and held it in a light clasp. 
The room was very quiet. For a long time she 
sat beside him, smiling when he opened his eyes 
dreamily now and then to look at her, until at 
last, notwithstanding his protest, he fell asleep. 
She drew her hand away softly then, and let the 
tears come as they would. For oh, he was so 
changed, so changed ! Even now she could 
scarcely believe that he would live, he was so 
thin and white and weak. The tears ran over as 
she looked at him, and love and fear and joy laid 
hold upon her until she could contain herself no 
longer. She bent toward him stealthily, brush- 


306 


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ing his cheek ever so lightly w^ith her lips. He 
stirred a little, smiling in his sleep, and in a 
sudden panic she ran out into the hall. She 
paused there, half turning to the steps which led 
to her own room ; then, feeling that nothing 
smaller than the wide sky could match her 
mood, she snatched a cape from the hall closet 
and ran down to the old beech. 

Such a different old beech it was from the 
one under which she had thrown herself only a 
few weeks before ! Such a different country ! 
It was winter still, but winter in its kindliest 
mood. The veil which hid the earth’s rich life 
was lifted a little that one might understand she 
was not dead, but only happily asleep. All 
through the sunny air ran the promise of the 
coming spring ; and under the low-hung winter 
sun the silvery gauze of the hillside mists shim- 
mered like bridal veils. A bold-hearted mock- 
ing-bird tilted on a high branch overhead, his 
pointed wings drooping, his tail twitching, as 
he turned his bright eye on the bare twigs about 
him, hopping from one to another in glad con- 
tent till singing time should come. A bluebird 
flashed by, a living jewel against the old walls 
of stone. Far off a prophet redbird called, 
clear, insistent, sweet ; and presently his faith 
was answered, for from the thicket beyond the 
fence came another call, timid, half doubting. 
The waking time was near at hand, and even 
now life stirred in its sleep, dreaming of days to 


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307 


come. From first to last how good it was — 
springtime and harvest, summer and winter, 
life, and love, and sleep, and resurrection ! 

She sat in the old seat among the tree roots, her 
head leaning against its trunk, drinking in joy 
and thankfulness, quieted and strengthened by the 
patient confidence of the world about her, until 
she suddenly remembered that she had left Bruce 
quite alone, and without the means of summon- 
ing help if he should need it. She ran back to 
the house, kissing her hand as she went to 
the mocking-bird, who turned his sharp eye full 
upon her, twitching his tail frantically. She 
smiled up at him. 

“Don’t look so superior, little brother,” she 
said; “I can feel my own wings to-day.” 

At the sitting-room door she checked herself. 
Her mother was on the ottoman at Bruce’s side. 
She rose as Bess came in, and the girl went for- 
ward, her color deepening a little, her happy 
eyes on her mother’s face. Margaret slipped her 
arm around her and leaned her cheek to hers, so 
that Bess could not see her eyes. 

“Bruce has told me all about it, dear,” she 
said ; “ and you can guess my hopes for both 
of you. But we must not let him talk any 
more now ; there will be plenty of time for 
that, since he is not going to Labrador. I am 
going to send Williams in with his lunch. You 
might stay here and see that he doesn’t forget 
to eat, and then I should turn him over to 


308 


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Williams for a while. He can stay right where 
he is for his afternoon rest.” 

This programme was faithfully carried out, 
and it was not until the early twilight that 
Bruce heard the step he was listening for, and 
Bess came in and sat beside him again in the 
bright glow of the fire. 

When Viry came home, late in the afternoon, 
she heard of Bruce’s advent in the sitting room, 
and went upstairs in unwonted thankfulness. 
But as she sat in her own room the longing to see 
him again grew irresistible. It was one of the 
two things for the sake of which she had been 
willing, these many weeks, still to endure her 
wretched life. Twilight was already falling 
when she gathered courage to go downstairs. 
She had always been free to take from the 
rooms below any books or papers which she 
wished to read ; she could go to the sitting room 
now as if for a magazine. If no one saw or 
heard her she would only stand in the doorway 
for one sight of his face, and come back to her 
own solitary place. She had a horror of his 
seeing her or speaking to her again, the last 
tones of his voice were too present with her; 
and she trembled to think of what he must feel 
toward her now that she had so nearly caused 
his death. But if she could stand unseen and 
look at him once more, there would be only one 
thing left to come to pass before she could throw 
ofi the burden of her life. She must know that 


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ap9 

Bess was happy. What it was that had gone 
wrong between her and Bruce she could not 
imagine ; but there was something, or he would 
not be going away. She would not seek rest for 
herself until the two whom she loved came 
together ; but that sooner or later they would do 
so she had no doubt. Her one comfort in life was 
her belief that what she regarded as her own 
sacrifice would avail to purchase their happiness. 

She crept noiselessly through the darkening 
hall, hurrying to be back again before Jordan 
should come in to light the house. She would 
hide behind the heavy curtains in the doorway 
and see him, herself unseen. As she reached 
the opening she pushed the nearest curtain care- 
fully aside and looked in. Her heart gave a 
great leap, and then stood still until she gasped 
for breath. Jordan’s voice in the back hall re- 
called her to herself, and she ran up the steps 
again as noiselessly as a bird fiies through the 
air. Ah, she had seen his face, seen it as she 
would have it! And Bess — Viry threw her- 
self upon her bed in a storm of tears in which 
were mingled her life’s joy and sorrow, the long 
anguish and the one happiness she had known. 

She was free at last. No one could possibly 
miss her, and there was no reason left for bear- 
ing her intolerable load another hour. She rose 
and walked with quiet decision across the room. 
The means of escape had long been ready, and 
now the time was come. 


XXIII 


Just before dinner Dick came in from the vil- 
lage, bringing the late mail. Among the letters 
was one for Margaret from the president of Viry’s 
college. There would be an unexpected vacancy 
in the preparatory school connected with the 
college by the middle of February, he found, and 
he wrote at once to offer the place to Viry through 
her. He added an account of the work required 
and the amount of salary paid. 

The letter was doubly welcome to Margaret. 
More than ever she desired to get Viry out of the 
house, and this would insure her final departure 
within a couple of weeks. When she went up- 
stairs that night she paused at the door leading 
to the back hall, and went down to Viry’s room ; 
she would tell her before she slept. 

As she neared the room the sound of stertorous 
breathing fell on her ears, and she quickened her 
steps. As she opened the door the air was heavy 
with the odor of laudanum. She ran to a win- 
dow in the dark to throw it open, and then, 
hurrying, felt for the matches and lit the gas. 

Viry was lying across the bed, unconscious, 
and drawing slow, heavy, labored breaths. Her 
hand was thrown out over the edge of the bed, 
310 


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311 


and the half-emptied bottle had fallen from her 
fingers, its contents running out on the floor. 
Her face was ghastly; her jaw had dropped; 
life seemed almost gone. 

Margaret threw open the other windows, and 
ran downstairs to call Dick. 

“ Dr. Ward was here just before dusk and said 
he expected to take dinner with Mr. Bruce this 
evening ; if he hasn’t gone back it won’t take 
long to get him. Run to Bruce’s office to tele- 
phone. Bring him in the back way when he 
comes.” 

Fortunately, Bess had already gone to her 
room, and Williams was still in the kitchen. 
Margaret called him, and the two went up to the 
unconscious girl. 

“ She’s pretty far gone, Mrs. Lawton,” he said ; 
“ she must ’a’ took it hours ago.” 

“We will do what we can,” said Margaret, 
briefly. “ Dr. Ward is coming.” 

They went to work with all the skill and 
energy at their command. The horror which 
Margaret had first felt, and with which she was 
yet to reckon, left her entirely. Her whole nature 
was absorbed in the elemental struggle of life 
with death. Whatever aspect they may wear 
in life, each man and woman who reaches that 
meeting-point of fear and aspiration typifies for 
the time the passion of all the ages, and is 
clothed with the worth and dignity of the race. 
All Margaret’s faculties were alert, her will 


312 


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hardening into an iron determination that this 
life should not be swallowed up of death. 

Dick came to the door before long, bringing 
Dr. Ward, and besought his mother to let him 
call some of the women servants, or Bess, or 
even that he himself might be allowed to take 
her place ; but she would listen to nothing which 
he could suggest, and he finally turned away. 

All night the three fought with death for Viry. 
The winter dawn, gray and late, woke in the 
cold sky. The light grew slowly and spread 
about the room, bringing out ashen hues on the 
tired faces, deadening everything even as it re- 
vealed it, while the gas-light dimmed to an in- 
effectual, ghostly flare. And in the daylight 
death shrank and faded, while step by step they 
forced him from the room, until at last Viry lay 
on the bed ghastly, weak to exhaustion, but once 
more a living woman and not a clod. 

Bess had learned the truth from Dick when 
she searched the house after going to her mother’s 
unused room for her usual morning greeting. 
She was in the sitting room now with Bruce, 
who must be kept in ignorance of the tragedy 
upstairs. Breakfast was over. By Margaret’s 
direction Bess had had a cot placed in her 
mother’s dressing-room, and there they carried 
Viry and left her, while Margaret threw her- 
self upon her bed. The dressing-room had no 
door except that leading into Margaret’s bed- 
room ; she did not dare trust Viry out of her 


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313 


reach until she could fathom the cause of the 
girl’s action and find some way to prevent its 
repetition. She closed the connecting door pres- 
ently, seeing Viry already asleep, locked her own 
door softly and removed the key, and changing 
her dress for a loose wrapper, lay down again, 
soon sleeping, like Viry herself, the sleep of utter 
exhaustion. 

She slept for several hours, and when she woke 
Bess brought her lunch and sat with her while 
she . ate it. Then she went away, promising to 
see that her mother was undisturbed until she 
should come downstairs or ring her bell. Viry 
was still asleep. 

Bess had looked after the replenishing of the 
fire, and Margaret drew her chair before it and 
fell into troubled thought. The horror of last 
night returned upon her, horror of what she be- 
lieved to be one of the greatest crimes within the 
power of man. Her religious belief was sincere 
and deep ; and at the heart of it was a convic- 
tion that life would impart life and love triumph 
in the end. It was in this belief that she had 
taken Viry as a child, that she had tried all 
these years to perform love’s task, to impart to 
her a noble life ; and last night’s catastrophe 
seemed to arraign either the genuineness of her 
love as a wife, or the truth of her belief. 

If Viry had come to her as a woman grown, 
she would have expected any amount of failure ; 
but the girl had been with her almost from her 


314 


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babyhood. Whatever force heredity might have 
she had never believed that environment could 
not mould and direct it ; she did not believe it 
no'w. That being so,- and granting that Viry 
had not been a hopelessly abnormal child, one 
of two things was true : either her whole under- 
standing of life was false, or she herself had 
fallen grievously short in some way, and had 
failed to live the truth she knew. 

She had never expected to make Viry, or even 
Dick or Bess, just what she herself would have 
them ; but if there were real vital force in her it 
should suffice to determine the general trend of 
their lives toward courage and righteousness and 
truth. However dimly they might apprehend 
the light, their faces would be set toward it, and 
not away from it; and Viry had turned her 
back. 

That her belief was false, that life was inca- 
pable of awakening life, that love was only a 
dream of power, was unthinkable ; the failure 
lay in herself. But where ? She searched the 
past, groping the dim recesses of her memory, 
and found no trace of what she sought ; so far 
as consciousness went she had done her best. 
Then the failure was unconscious, the failure 
of ignorance ; and where could it be found ? 
Could the knowledge of blindness create sight ? 
A sudden wave of pity for herself swept over 
her — pity for the long, blind years of futile 
effort, of passionate straining after that which 


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had . been set J)eyond her reach, which all her 
I powers combined could never master. For she 
I had done her best. For Philip’s sake, in all that 
long, hard task she had done her best. 

For Philip’s sake ! As the sudden lightning 
cleaves the dark, and shows the edge of the 
abyss and the narrow path whereby one has 
climbed to ruin, the words flashed through her 
clouded thoughts, and in the twinkling of an 
eye she had seen the truth. It had been for 
Philip’s sake, and through him for her own. 
What had she done for Viry ? She put her 
hands over her eyes unwittingly, as if to shut 
out some blinding glare. Viry had been right 
to distrust her ; the girl’s instinct was truer than 
her own. For Viry herself, apart from Philip, 
she had scarcely had a thought, beyond now and 
then, perhaps, a fleeting, perfunctory compassion. 
That had been all, at least, until the last six 
months, until the outcast so long tolerated had 
dared to intrude upon that sacred circle where 
Margaret’s love lavished itself. Her cheeks 
burned as her own thoughts rose, one by one, 
looked her in the face, and passed. When it 
promised to work good for Bess, had she not 
wished Viry set in the forefront of temptation 
that she might suffer for her daughter’s gain? 
When the girl had come a step nearer, and 
laid her hand on Philip’s secret, had she not 
cast her out? The moment that her service 
to Philip allowed it she had swept her out of 




316 


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her life. Her compassion had never rung true ; 
no wonder Viry had refused to be deceived by 
the counterfeit which she had offered her in this 
very room. 

She was a proud woman, prouder than she 
had known. She had thought often that few 
women would have done for their husbands the 
thing which she had done. She had gloried in 
her sacrifice, in the love which had made it pos- 
sible. Even if the child had been white it would 
have been a great-hearted thing to do, she had 
thought, a thing meet for a noble woman and 
a noble love. She shrank down in her chair, 
pressing her hands once more against her eyes. 
But she had seen the truth and nothing could 
shut it out. All these long years selfishness had 
been her inspiration ; and she had called it love, 
and wondered that the pale eyes defied her and 
the red lips curled, while the wilful feet spurned 
the path she so carefully marked out. 

This was the end of it — shipwreck and ruin 
for Viry, failure and misery for herself. She 
sat stolidly in her place, looking vacantly at the 
flickering blaze. She had come to the end of 
everything. 

There was a stir in the dressing-room. Bess 
had left the door ajar when she went to see if 
Viry still slept, and as she turned and sighed the 
sound was plainly to be heard. Margaret went 
to her. She was awake, looking with wide, 
dull eyes at the unfamiliar place in which she 


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317 


found herself. When she saw Margaret she half 
rose, frowning. 

« Lie still,” said Margaret. “ I did not know 
that you were awake, or I would have come in 
sooner. I will ring for your lunch, and after 
you eat something you must try to sleep again.” 

“ I am not hungry,” answered Viry, obstinately, 
‘^and I want to go to my room.” 

<«Do as I wish for once, Viry, without conten- 
tion. I am as tired as yourself.” 

Viry looked at her in surprise. There was a 
dead hopelessness in her voice, a weariness in 
her face and figure, which she had never known 
before. The girl fiushed as she looked at her, 
half resentful, half ashamed. She lay down 
again without speaking, and Margaret rang the 
bell. Bess brought the lunch herself, but did 
not come in. 

“ Poor mother,” she whispered, drawing her to 
the door and kissing her, « won’t I do for Viry ? 
You look ill, mother; let me help.” 

Margaret shook her head. « You promised, 
dear. Run away.” 

She closed the door again and carried the waiter 
into the little room, where she propped Viry 
with pillows and fed her. The girl was still 
very weak, and after the first protest submitted 
quietly, wondering dully at the misery in Mar- 
garet’s face. She knew better than to suppose 
that it was there for her ; but it was curious to 


see. 


318 


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Margaret sat patiently raising one spoonful 
after another to Viry’s lips, waiting when she 
grew tired, urging her gently to take more, until 
the light meal was finished. Something in the 
simple act, the common meeting of life’s most 
common need, seized upon her emotion without 
announcing itself clearly to her mind. Her hand 
began to tremble, her whole body to quiver at 
last, and tears gathered and pressed behind her 
lids. She could not understand what moved 
her, but an awed sense grew upon her that 
something stood on the threshold of her life — 
something of which she need not be afraid. 
She dropped the spoon at last and drew out the 
pillows gently. Her hands were cold, and as she 
tried to speak her lips quivered. 

“Lie here quietly, Viry, until I come again. 
Go to sleep if you can.” 

Viry raised her eyes once more to protest, 
then closed them quickly lest they should be 
seen to see. For Margaret’s calm was broken 
and gone, her face was in an agony, and tears 
were streaming down her cheeks. She turned 
abruptly into her own room, closing the door 
behind her, and fell upon the bed, burying her 
face in the pillows, while the storm of tears 
shook her from head to foot. 

What was it that had touched her? What veiled 
thing stood just beyond her conscious knowl- 
edge, apprehended only of her heart? Slowly 
her sobs subsided, until she lay in perfect quiet. 


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319 


waiting for that which was to come. And then 
her mind grew clear and understood. 

Her body had paid the price for Viry’s body ; 
she had saved her physical life at the expense of 
her own strength ; she had fed it in its desperate 
weakness, and drawn it back toward health. And 
the thing she had believed was true ; life could 
impart life, could control and nourish it, if life 
would pay the price. That she had paid it for 
Viry’s physical life every aching muscle and 
nerve bore witness ; but the price for her other 
life she had never offered : would she pay it now, 
and win ? 

Again she trembled as she saw the task that 
lay before her. She had not yet consented to 
undertake it, but she knew by some secret pro- 
cess of consciousness that she would consent, 
even as she knew that for the moment consent 
was beyond her power. To see the truth, to 
her, had long meant to follow it ; and no matter 
what happened first, the habit of her life would 
rule. 

But she could win nothing without paying for 
it. If she would enter the depths of Viry’s 
nature, she must open the depths of her own. 
She could not shield Philip. She closed her 
eyes, and thought stopped for her and life waited ; 
so far she had come and she must rest. 

Presently she started on again, breathing pain- 
fully, her body lying motionless, her soul toiling 
up the pitiless ascent. It was not right that 


THE MASTER-WOKD 


Philip should be shielded ; they must pay the 
price together. Her forgiveness was not enough. 
More, far more, than he had wronged his wife he 
had wronged the life which he had given ; until 
i/ Viry forgave him he could not stand absolved. 
It was not enough that she herself should wait 
upon this woman of a lower race, confessing her 
own cruel selfishness ; the girl must be told of 
Philip’s penitence, she must know his shame. 
Again she rested, panting. It was incredible, 
impossible — this thing that she knew was true. 
She moaned softly, turning her head from side 
to side as if seeking some way of escape, but 
there was no escape. Turn as she would, the 
Law gripped her; though justice might be thrust 
aside, love was inexorable. 

Then, because she could go no further on that 
path, her mind turned to Viry herself, compre- 
hending in one swift instant all that on which for 
years she had looked with such careless eyes. She 
put herself in Viry’s place, a double outcast all 
her days, stripped, hopeless, desolate ; and there 
at last she halted, until that which she saw and 
felt sank into her deepest thought, and ate out 
all her pride. To steady a life under that hard 
load, to lift it from the pit of despair and give it 
hopefulness and courage, was it not worth the 
price ? Once more she buried her face and wept 
— the worn, spent, thankful weeping of one who 
rests at the end of the last march. 


XXIV 


ViRY had fallen asleep again, and slept until 
the sun went down and the young moon, sailing 
high in heaven, whitened the winter world. Bess 
had come back, bringing a little tray for Mar- 
garet, and once more imploring her mother to 
come away and let her take her place. Margaret 
stood in the doorway, herself in shadow, and 
taking the girl’s face between her two hands 
turned it to the light burning lower down the 
hall. She kissed her tenderly — this daughter 
of hers who would walk amid abundance of all 
things of which Viry must go in want. 

“Bruce is better,” she said, smiling; “I see it 
in your eyes. Go back, dear heart; one’s first — 
' — day with one’s lover comes but once. / And, 
deW, do not be troubled about me. I have been 
thinking about your father to-day ; I feel that 
the last veil of separation between us has been 
taken away. It is a white day to me as to you. 
Now go.” 

Bess kissed her, rubbing her cheek against her 
mother’s with her old childish caress, and drew 
slowly away from her. Margaret pushed her 
gently. 

“ Go,” she said, “ Bruce is waiting.” 


322 


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Bess turned and walked away, flushing and 
smiling, but looking back until her mother closed 
the door. 

The room was a corner one, lighted by four 
great windows, through which the moonlight 
shone. Margaret drew a little rocking-chair near 
one of them and sat down, the moonlight falling 
across her lap. Presently, though she had heard 
no sound, the door of the dressing-room opened 
softly, and Viry went slowly and silently toward 
the hall door. They had brought her there that 
morning in a heavy wrapper thrown over her 
nightdress, and she had put it on again and was 
stealing back to her own room. She had not 
seen Margaret and supposed she had gone away. 
She started violently when she heard her name. 

“Viry,” said Margaret, “come here first.” 

She paused irresolute. 

“ Come,” repeated Margaret. “ I do not want 
to speak of what has happened, Viry ; I want to 
tell you something about myself.” 

Viry came toward her and seated herself in a 
low chair near Margaret’s, wondering at some- 
thing strange in her voice, and leaning forward 
a little to see her face, remembering the tears. 
But she was all in the deep shadow, except 
that the moonlight fell across her lap, and on her 
two hands lying white upon it, one above the 
other. 

“ You said once, Viry, that I had had a happy 
life ; and that is true, only not quite as you sup- 


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323 


pose. I knew my husband from the time we 
were both children, and I must have loved him 
all my life, though I did not know it when he 
first began to speak of love. I think we were — 
—made for each other. We were so happy — 
there are no words to tell ! I lived to answer to — 
him ; what he called for in me woke, and what 
he did not call for slept until he wanted it. — ^ 
Perhaps we were selfish in our happiness, but it 
was a perfect thing.” 

Her voice was low and musing, as if she were 
merely thinking aloud. Viry listened, wondering. 

“ When the children came they were more of 
Philip for me to love. I could not think of them 
apart from him. For nearly eight years we 
lived together, and his love for me was as per- 
fect as he himself. There was no fiaw any- 
where.” 

Her voice fell into silence, and then came 
again out of the darkness, with a clear evenness 
which touched Viry’s wondering attention with 
a sense of repressed suffering deeper than the 
sorrow of which she spoke. 

«He was thrown from his buggy one day and 
hurt, as you must have heard. His horse was 
frightened by something and dashed across the 
railroad in front of a switching engine. He was 
thrown out and his head was struck. They 
brought him home unconscious. He had left me 
only an hour before. For days he did not know 
me. I sat here by his bed day and night, trying 


324 


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/(o fight off death. Nothing was alive in me 
except what Philip needed : all the rest could 
wait. After ages he woke and knew me. But 
he did not get well ; his will seemed paralyzed 
by the shock. I had thought the fight was won 
when he came to consciousness, but now I sat 
beside him and died again, inch by inch. 

“ One day the doctor took away almost my 
last hope. I went back upstairs to him at once ; 
I was too near eternal darkness to waste one 
moment of the light. But when I came to his 
door something choked me. I did not dare go 
in till I was calm. I went on to what was 
then my own room. I knew he needed my self- 
control, and I must have it again even at the 
price of staying away from him. — Then I heard 
that door.” 

Again she paused, and a long, shivering breath 
spent itself in the darkness. The two white 
hands turned together in the moonlight and 
gripped one another convulsively. Viry leaned 
toward the shadows with parted lips. 

“ I flew down the hall to stop the sound. 
There was a woman coming toward Philip’s 
door — a negro woman, nearly white. — God ! ” 
The word broke from her as a prayer, an agonized 
cry for help. Then she steadied herself and 
went on, her voice sunk to a whisper and break- 
ing as she spoke. 

“ She had heard that he was dying. She had 
come for money — for her child. For Philip’s 


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325 


child. I sent her away. I looked at her as she 
went. I did not understand how she could live 
even if I had not looked at her; my thought 
should have been enough. 

“I started back to my room. I did not dare 
come in here to Philip ; I must waste the time 
again. But he called me ; he had heard ; I had 
to go. And Philip — he saw my anger, he 
thought I believed it. And so he told me the 
truth.” 

The hands were caught back into the darkness 
and pressed against her throat. Viry was 
trembling from head to foot. 

“His body lived. Every one thought Philip 
was well again. But whether I looked at him 
or shut my eyes, I knew that Philip was dead, and 
that what was left was only a festering corpse. 
Five months I lived with it in this house. I 
never called it Philip in my thoughts. But I 
lived in the house with it, I pretended to every 
one that it was Philip. I did it for the children’s 
sakes. No one guessed the truth except Aunt 
Dilsey. She knew before ; the woman was her 
niece. 

“ Then the thing that had been Philip was ill. 
I waited on it as I had done on him ; no one 
suspected. I had thought of him as dead so 
long that when the doctor said Philip would die 
I did not understand at first. He thought I 
loved what was upstairs as I had loved Philip ; 
he was sorry for me. 


THE MASTER-WORD 



/ 


“ I went back to the room. I could scarcely 
breathe. It began to talk to me — about the 
child. Viry,” — her voice broke. She sobbed 
a little ; then her hands, tightly clasped again, 
fell back into the moonlight, and she went on 
once more. 

« Philip came back to me,” she said passion- 
ately. “Here in this very room he rose from 
the dead. We have never been separated since. 
He had gone beyond me — far, far ! I had 
wrapped myself in pride, like any Pharisee, and 
Philip, the publican, had found God. I cannot 
tell you what it was like, Viry, for it is I who 
must speak for him, not he himself ; but think 
your deepest of penitence, your highest of noble- 
ness, and perhaps you can understand. And it 
was not all for me; I never fully understood 
until to-day. He wanted my forgiveness — 
though I was not fit to give it except that I 
loved him so — but it was the child too. He 
knew, though I did not. The wrong he had 
done me filled my world ; there was no place 
left for the wrong he had done the child ; I was 
blind to it ; but Philip — Philip saw. He went 
at last with a groan because of it. He knew 
that if we forgave each other it would blot out 
every cloud from between our souls ; but for the 
child he saw the deeper wrong, the lifelong 
misery, the almost certain sin. He saw it, and 
despaired.” 

Her voice trembled into silence again. The 


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327 


beating of Viry’s heart half strangled her. The 
blood surged in her ears. 

“ He went away from me — oh, so soon ! 
We had scarcely begun to speak. I had no 
time to tell him anything. There was no way 
to show him how I loved him, how all my 
life I would repent. He was mine again, yet I 
could not reach him. And he had gone under 
that awful shadow — that nothing could save 
the child.” 

She waited a little, breathing deeply, but 
evenly. Her hands loosed their convulsive 
grasp and lay together more lightly. 

“ I could do nothing for him, I thought at 
first, nothing any more. But the thought of the 
child kept coming. If I could save the child, 
his last burden would be lifted. If I took the 
child and did my best for it, it would be the 
uttermost proof of my love, and the only proof 
left for me to give. — Do you understand me, 
Viry?” 

« Yes, Miss Margaret.” 

Aunt Dilsey brought you here, and I tried 
to do my best. I never spared myself. I 
thought of you day and night ; I prayed and 
planned for you, year after year. Yet you 
never trusted me. I tried to win your confi- 
dence; I never could. I suffered over it; I 
prayed, I wept ; I tried again and again, until 
the time came when I despaired. I do not ask 
you to believe me, Viry, I ask nothing of you 


THE MASTER-WORD 



any more ; but I was honest in what I did. My 
failure wrung my heart ; I could not understand 
it — until to-day. And now that I see it, my 
pride is in the dust.” 

“ Miss Margaret,” said Viry, with quivering 
lips. 

“ No, wait a little ; let me say it all. Be pa- 
tient a little longer.” After a moment she went 
on : “ When you stood here and taunted me 
with my selfish happiness, and challenged me 
to tell you these hidden things, I could bear 
nothing more. I had done my best and failed, 
and I would not keep you in my sight. I tried 
to find some place to send you to ; I meant 
never to see you again or try to help you. Last 
night the letter came, and I went to your room 
to tell you — oh, God was merciful! I did not 
come too late ! 

“ The completeness of my failure overwhelmed 
me ; I had only seen its outer edge before. 
While you were asleep in yonder I sat here 
trying to understand. And then I saw the 

truth. It had all been for Philip’s sake, and 
^ through him, for my own ; and not at all for 
yours. You were right to distrust me, Viry ; 
you were wiser than I. I did not know it, but 
what you thought of me was true.” 

Viry leaned forward, brushing her skirt with 
her hand timidly. Forgive me, Miss Margaret,” 
she said ; “ I never knew you till to-night.” 

“ It is you who must forgive,” said Margaret, 


THE MASTER-WORD 


steadily. “It was your forgiveness, not mine, 
that Philip needed most. That is the greatest ^ 
of all sins — to create a life that has no right 
to be. I ask forgiveness for him. I ask it for 
us both ; I cannot separate myself from him, 
and we have both sinned against you.” 

“ Miss Margaret, I — ” 

“ Wait. Think what forgiveness means. It 
means that you accept the life that was thrust 
upon you. It means that you bear the burden 
from which he is forever free. It means that 
you take the curse of life and turn it into a 
blessing. It can mean nothing less.” 

Viry was silent. Margaret sat watching her 
as the moonlight moved slowly toward her face 
across the darkened air. 

“ I am ashamed to offer you help, Viry,” she 
said presently, “ I need it so much myself ; and 
I am ignorant where I thought I had learned wis- 
dom. But however dimly I saw it, the light that 
I saw was true. And, Viry, there is something 
better than escape. I scarcely dare say it to you,” 
she went on in growing agitation, “ your burden 
is so much greater than my own ; but the best of 
life is victory, and not escape. I have thought 
of it so long. Even after Philip was mine again, 

I thought for years — If it had not been true ! 
if he had been as I thought him once ; if there 
had been nothing for love to forgive ! I could 
not bear it. There were days when it maddened 
me to look at you — to think that in anything. 


THE MASTER-WORD 



most of all in that, love should need to stoop. 
And then I came to see that that was why love 
should be — to bear, to stoop, to lift, never to 
, faint nor fail. If we were strong and perfect, 
where were the need of love ? I had claimed 
love’s joy and tried to shirk its burden, and so 
I had missed its heart. Viry, I did find peace. 
There must be sorrow, some way, somehow, to 
[ him who walks in love ; there is never any es- 
cape. There comes a time when love seems all 
I sorrow, and the joy only a poor thin veiling of 
its awful depths. But if you will fathom the 
depths, if you will give up your life and sink 
down, down, into the lowest place — there is 

V joy there, Viry. I am not worthy to know the 
mystery, but as I am a living woman, it is 
true!” 

« Is it true for me ? ” asked Viry. « Before 
you answer, think what my life must be.” 

“ If love fails in the bitterest case, it fails in all. 
And I know it cannot fail ; I have tested it all 
these years. You must go deeper than I, Viry; 
there are depths beyond any I have found : but 
you will know more of love than I. And it 
will be worth the price.” 
i" “To live with negroes and for negroes,” said 
I Viry, slowly ; “ that I could do : people have done 
j that for much lower races. But to do it as if I 
I were one of them, to have no one suspect the 
L difference, to have no sense of oneness with my 
own people to fall back upon ! — It is not a 


THE MASTER-WORD 


331 


voluntary sacrifice; it is a tame submission to 
an enforced injustice ! ” 

« Viry, there is justice at the heart of it, and 
truth, and love, if you will look at it in a world- 
wide way. The real injustice was Philip’s in 
giving you a life for which no race could make 
a home. But great as Philip’s wrong to you 
was, the issue is with yourself alone ; you can 
make it your doom or your triumph. Viry, will 
you forgive him ? ” 

Again there was silence. The old clock on 
the landing struck seven, the sound echoing 
through the still house. They heard Dick come 
into the hall downstairs from the sitting room, 
calling back some laughing message to Bess from 
the door of his den before it closed after him. 

“ One can live two lives at once,” Margaret 
went on. “ One of them is down in the press 
and strain — down in the mire, often. It is all 
hedged in with narrowness and pain, and it 
touches everything that it can help. It cannot 
draw back from anything, and it can see noth- 
ing, understand nothing, but the day’s clamor 
and need. If it is your only life it is terrible. 
But even as one struggles there, o ne may live 
another l i fe, high, and lifted up. It is above 
time, and every moment it looks back toward 
// the unseen beginning, and forward toward the 
^ unseen end. It sees that the other life has its 
rightful place, and it pours strength into it, and 
hope. " It is above all strife and change. Only 


\ 


332 


THE MASTER-WORD 


the free souls reach it — those who accept the 
Law. And they are all of one race who climb 
there : down in the other life there may be Jew 
and Greek, rich and poor, bond and free ; but 
the soul can live where none of these things may 
come. The souls of slaves have found that life 
and revelled in it while they did their masters’ 
will ; and the souls of emperors have found free- 
dom there, and because of it have been willing 
to live and reign. Viry,” her voice broke, and 
then went on through tears — « if Philip forced 
upon you the life of strain, he made the other 
life possible for you, too. Does it count for 
nothing with you ? Will you forgive him that 
he gave you life ? ” 

She stretched her hands out pleadingly, lean- 
ing toward the girl through the darkness. Her 
face was still in shadow, but the moonlight 
caught the dropping of her tears. Viry touched 
her hand half doubtfully, and then grasped it as 
she felt Margaret’s firm clasp on hers. Her own 
tears fell unchecked. 

“ I do forgive him,” she said brokenly ; ‘‘ I 
will live my life. But for you. Miss Margaret, 
for you” — tears choked her. She slipped to 
the floor and raised the hem of Margaret’s dress 
to her lips. “ Teach me,” she said humbly ; 
“ forgive me, and be my friend.” 

Downstairs Bess and Bruce had spent a golden 
day. At twilight they were by the fire, he on 


THE MASTER-WORD 


333 


the lounge and she on the ottoman beside him, 
when Jordan came in to draw the blinds and 
light the room as usual. 

“ Oh, don’t shut out the twilight, Jordan,” 
said Bess. <‘It’s too soon for lights. Let the 
room alone, and I’ll light the lamps myself pres- 
ently, and Mr. Dick will close the blinds for 
me.” 

“ Yassum,” said Jordan, respectfully, and 
grinned appreciatively as soon as he was safe in 
the hall. 

Bess and Bruce enjoyed the twilight while 
it lasted, and then found the firelight equally 
delightful. They quite forgot the blinds, and it 
was not until Dick came in that they remem- 
bered the lamps. Bess lit them then in some 
haste. They cleared the centre-table and had 
dinner served there, a merry meal for the three. 
Afterward Dick sat with them a little while, 
and then went to his den, protesting that he had 
letters to write for the early mail. 

Bess drew a deep low chair to one side of the 
hearth for Bruce, and pushed her ottoman be- 
side him, her head resting on his shoulder, his 
arm about her, as they talked of old sorrow and 
the new joy. 

Hayne had ridden over again, his thoughts 
still a tangle of impossible schemes, but unable 
to endure his suspense any longer without a 
glimpse of Bess’s face. He came up the steps 
now, and glanced in some surprise at the bright 


334 


THE MASTER-WOED 


light streaming from the unshuttered windows. 
Then he saw Bess, and his heart stopped beating 
for a second which seemed an hour. They were 
sitting almost facing the window, and Bruce’s 
arm was about her still, her head thrown back 
upon it, looking up. His eyes were on her face ; 
to him, as to Hayne, the room held nothing else. 

Hayne stood in the shadow of the pillar, his 
hands closed tight, his hungry heart drinking in 
the look which could never be turned to him. 

“ God bless her,” he said softly. “ God bless 
her always ! ” 

Then he took his eyes away resolutely, and 
turning back went out into the wide silence of 
the moonlit night. 


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